


A Leader to All

by Broken_Orbit



Series: A Leader to All (Main) [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, F/F, Multi, Realistic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6756298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Orbit/pseuds/Broken_Orbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Shepard's death only strengthened her as an icon for humanity, a reality that catapulted her to great heights in the public eye even as she was discredited by the Council. After being resurrected by one of the galaxy's most shadowy organizations, she must again work to challenge an enemy that others refuse to believe exists. AU through a realistic lens, reworked plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings to all those who may be visiting this story! This here is my first fan-fiction project, as well as my first independent work ever to be posted on the internet. It's been put up here more as an exploratory effort than anything else, and if I get a response it'll encourage me to write more. Feedback is welcome, as it will help me to learn as I go along, and so I encourage you to give me any constructive criticism you may have. Any questions can also be posted in the comments, and if I can, I will answer them in depth.
> 
> Now, on to the basics of the story:
> 
> This project is essentially a redefining of the Mass Effect universe through a more realistic perspective. Many of the changes have to do with various aspects of the technology within the franchise, as well as plot direction and development of various story arcs. I am also reworking many other things relating to people, places and cultures- although most of this is more about fleshing out the content versus changing it outright. Many things shall be familiar, but don't expect to see the same settings or for events to follow the same path as the games or other material. Additionally, I will make an effort to include most known characters (especially fan favorites) in one form or another, but there will also be a very large original cast- both singular and reoccurring characters.
> 
> The plot arc is beginning roughly at the start of Mass Effect 2, utilizing a mostly-Paragon female Commander Shepard with the Colonist and Sole Survivor backgrounds. All available squadmates from the first game were befriended, and Shepard, by this point in the story, is in a romantic relationship with Doctor Liara T'Soni. Kaidan Alenko was killed on Virmire, and Ambassador Udina has weaseled his way into power amongst the Citadel Council.
> 
> That's about all that I can say here, but much more shall be shown throughout the course of this project. If it is successful and garners any sort of a following, I plan on going all the way up through the plot of Mass Effect 3 and beyond depending on whether BioWare makes more games including our dashing hero.
> 
> If needed, I might make a separate page to explain things if people need answers right off the bat. For now, though, I presume that this'll do.
> 
> Acknowledgements: I thank my sister for her encouragement and support in the creation of this story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any content relating to the Mass Effect franchise, with the exception of my own written material. Any similarities to existing figures or organizations is coincidental and/or justifiable under artistic license (e.g. referencing any current political organizations, or attributing any stated actions to them that have not occurred in real life).

CHAPTER ONE: THE HUNT

SSV Normandy, Amada System, Omega Nebula

0830 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Monday, July 13th, 2183 

The Amada System was rather unremarkable, home to five planets and without any actual settlements. Its most distinctive features were a few archeological oddities, making most of its appeal scientific. The more outstanding of these curiosities was Eingana, a harsh world which was littered with the degraded shells of ancient warships, lost in a struggle long forgotten. This was also the primary reason for exploration to the system, which had seen the arrival of three vessels within the past thirty-two days. 

All of them had disappeared without a trace.

This was more than slightly worrying, considering the recent emergence of the geth from their historic isolation within the Perseus Veil. Even beside the issue of their failed assault on the galactic Citadel roughly four weeks prior, the geth also had a newfound presence in the Attican Traverse and the Terminus Systems. As it was suspected that the disappearance of the scientific ships could be attributed to the enigmatic automatons, such was it the objective of the SSV Normandy to search the system. 

Commander Jennifer Annette Shepard sat calmly in her command chair, overlooking the rest of the Normandy’s Combat Information Center as it approached Amada. She drummed her fingers on the armrests of her seat, which was gimbal-mounted to the deck below her and positioned before the CIC’s central holoprojector. Upon the display was a representation of the ship’s trajectory into the system, compared with predicted placements of the various bodies within based upon prior information. This was necessary due to it being quite difficult to look at the outside world with any real clarity while encased within a high-strength mass effect field. Therefore, just where to drop out of FTL was a predetermined point- which was very near on arrival.

“Counting one minute to wind-down, Commander.” Came the voice of Jeff “Joker” Moreau from over the shipboard communications network. He, being the Normandy’s primary helmsman, was seated in the cockpit two-dozen meters ahead of the Commander. The young man was amid a cluster of other staff, each in charge of various functions of navigation, sensors and weaponry aboard the ship.

“Thanks For the heads-up, Joker,” replied the Commander, thumbing a button on her control interface to switch her communicator over to the shipwide intercom channel. She cleared her throat and spoke into her headset, “Commander Shepard to all crew, brace for deceleration from FTL. We have roughly fifty seconds from this point to reaching Amada to conduct operations. Repeat, brace for deceleration immediately.” She flicked off the communicator and donned her safety harness, waiting for the ship to re-enter the realm of normal physics.

Shortly thereafter, Joker sounded off the alert for drive reduction and began the process of bringing the Normandy down from FTL. Shepard felt a lurch as the ship’s Tantalus core throttled down, the inertial dampeners slowly adjusting for the lessening of the vessel’s surrounding mass effect envelope. She was pressed into her chair as the Normandy (which, at that point, was facing opposite from its destination) dropped down to sub-light velocity. A long, uncomfortable moment later, the ship’s drive field adjustment ceased and it began to drift into the Amada system.

The deck’s artificial gravity generators kicked in again as the acceleration vanished, and the crew began to unclasp safety equipment after their brief confinement. Once everyone was situated, the CIC returned to activity. Shepard looked towards the holoprojector and inspected the visible situation in real-time. 

Amada was a yellowish-white dwarf star, its five orbiting planets revolving on roughly the same plane. The closest planet to their location at the system’s rim, Alchera, was the fourth major body out from the star and was incredibly close by spaceflight standards- only about two hundred million kilometers away. Even though the Normandy was no longer moving at FTL speeds, it would be a short trip- roughly twenty minutes at most out of the multiple-day mission.

The plan of action was to use Alchera as the initial stopping point, discharging the drive core in its magnetosphere. The proximity necessary for this would also allow the Normandy to radiate heat unseen by possible observers, as it would block line of sight with the rest of the system for a short amount of time. After the planet had been thoroughly examined for geth, the Normandy would slingshot around it at high speed and use its Tantalus linear attraction drive to provide thrust. This, in conjunction with the vessel’s hull refrigeration systems and heat sinks, would guarantee that no visible heat was released and that the reconnaissance mission could be executed without anyone else noticing the ship’s presence.

Given, such secrecy came at a cost. The Normandy was already bottling up much of the waste heat from FTL travel, which due to the in-transit use of the shipboard fusion reactor turned out to be quite a lot. The temperature of the CIC itself was already several degrees warmer than usual, no doubt being significantly lower than the areas of the ship nearest the heat sinks. This would be reduced after they hit Alchera, but the interior of the vessel was going to get rather crispy a few times throughout the day. Such was an uncomfortable reality of working aboard the Normandy, but by no means was unbearable.

As the Commander watched a holographic representation of the Normandy inch closer and closer to Alchera, she decided that she needed some coffee. The mission was likely going to be a monotonous one, and she hadn’t yet had her usual pick-me-up. Not only that, but going down to the Crew Deck to fetch it would give her a chance to talk to her bondmate. Rising from her chair and smoothing out her uniform, she looked over to the Navigator’s station.

“Pressly?” she asked, prompting the older man to look up from his place at the front of the holoprojector assembly.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m going to head downstairs to snatch a drink. You think you could hold down the fort until we reach Alchera?”

“Sure thing, Commander,” he replied. “I’ll get you on personal comms when we make orbit.” 

Shepard gave him a nod of thanks, moving to go down a stairwell in the rear of the CIC. Two airtight doors later, she stepped out into the multifunctional Crew Deck. A few large tables were bolted to the deck in the main room, with counters topped with food processors and storage cabinets off to one side. In a room beyond that was the bunking area, with over a dozen two-tiered adjustable bedding arrangements attached to both the floor and ceiling. Outside was the medical clinic, and the captain’s cabin was also nearby.

One of the first things the Commander noticed was that the mess hall was mostly empty. It was unusual, considering that crewmen generally congregated within it during slow ops, but then again the mission had only started recently and those on the previous shift were busy getting back to sleep. The next thing was who was in the mess hall, being three individuals who Shepard delighted to find there.

Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams and former C-SEC officer Garrus Vakarian were seated together at one of the tables, while the krogan mercenary Urdnot Wrex was in the process of acquiring an armful of rations from the nearby storage room. The three were very good friends of the Commander’s despite having only known each other for a few months, as they had grown close during the mission to stop Saren Arterius. With the exception of Liara T’Soni and a few Alliance Marines, they were the only living members of the previous ground detail to remain on-ship. The rest had either been reassigned, or, in the case of Tali’Zorah- left for home. 

As Shepard walked up to the table at which Garrus and Ashley sat, the turian gave her a nod of greeting and tapped the shoulder of the Marine sitting next to him. Looking up from the screen of her omni-tool, Ashley panicked to close it, get out from the table and stand to attention- all at the same time. It would have been a comical display, had Shepard not seen it so many times already. 

“Good morning, Commander!” She sounded off, assuredly waking up a few of the crew bunking in the other room. Shepard returned her salute, allowing her to return to her seat before Wrex spoke up.

“Shepard, I thought that you were gonna stay up there for a while. Does that mean that we have something to do, now?” The Commander shook her head, much to the big lizard’s disdain.

“No, sorry. I’m just down here for a minute; want to talk to Liara before we make first orbit.” Looking towards Ashley, she asked:

“Have you seen her around, at all?” The Marine stuck her thumb backwards in the direction of the Normandy’s medical clinic, nodding her head.

“Yeah. I saw her go in there a couple of hours ago, not so long after you went upstairs. She’s probably still inside, but I haven’t been in here the whole time.” The interior shutters were drawn on the med bay’s windows, making this ambiguous.

“She’s in there,” confirmed Garrus. “I heard her moving around in the storage room not too long ago.” Again, Shepard was reminded of just how well turians could hear.

“Okay, thanks,” answered the Commander. “Before I go in, though, I’m gonna make some drinks. You guys want anything?” Wrex and Ashley both shook their heads (and Garrus didn’t actually have much along those lines), and so she turned on her heel to go to the mess counter. An electric brewer was attached on top of it, and from a nearby drawer Shepard pulled a pair of lidded cups. She prepared a batch of Liara’s favorite tea first (as the asari would have undoubtedly finished her morning cup if she hadn’t left her workspace in so long), and then filled the second cup with standard coffee for herself. Turning around with the finished drinks in hand, she noticed just how many MREs Wrex had pulled from storage.

“Alright, kids,” she said, addressing the trio. “Don’t let the old man make himself sick, you hear?” This earned a glare from the krogan, accompanied by Garrus clicking his mandibles in amusement. Shepard was pretty sure that she heard him get punched as she went around to the med clinic’s door. 

Suspecting that Doctor Chakwas could be asleep within (she was old enough to need to nap intermittently, and she always lowered the shutters when she did so), the Commander cracked it open manually to peer inside. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the ship’s doctor slumped in her chair, the device still secured from the ship’s earlier deceleration. Shepard decided to sneak past the older woman, entering quietly and then sliding the door shut behind her. It was not to be, however, as the contraption sealed loudly and startled Chakwas awake. She looked up blearily, not recognizing her at first, but when she did, she hurriedly unbuckled her harness and shot to attention. 

“Oh, I- Good morning, Commander!”

“I am so sorry, Karin. I was trying to be quiet,” Shepard apologized, gripping the door handle. “Go back to sleep, I can leave.”

“No need, Jennifer,” objected the doctor, reciprocating her superior’s dropping of formalities. “I needed to get up, anyway. I’m not much use lounging about, even if we are just drifting.” She opened up the clinic’s window shutters, the airtight coverings retracting upwards to let the light in. She followed this by turning on the ceiling strips, appearing to thoroughly blind herself in the process. 

“I take it you’re here to talk to Liara?” She asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Yes. Is she present?”

“In the back room, dear. She’s probably still going over her notes about Amada. The last I spoke to her, she was absolutely bubbling about this world with old ships on it. I can’t seem to remember the name, though.” 

“Yeah, that’s Eingana,” Shepard clarified, leaning against the wall opposite from Chakwas. “She wants to do a detailed scan when we stop by, but I’m not sure if what she wants to see is on the right side of it for active sensors. If anything, we’ll have to clear the system first and then head back to get a good look.” The doctor nodded, somewhat downcast.

“Well, that’s too bad. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find there aren’t any geth out here after all. I doubt it, though, considering the circumstances.” Shepard looked towards the storage room at the other end of the clinic, taking a sip from her formerly neglected drink.

“Hey, Doc, I think I’m going to go talk to her. There isn’t so much time left until we reach first orbit, and I’ve got to be up there when it happens.”

“Go right on ahead, Commander. Sorry to keep you.”

“No worries,” Shepard assured, approaching the door. She gave it a brief knock before opening it, exposing the dimly lit interior of the room. The (objectively) young asari was sitting before her computer, engrossed in her research, and the Commander’s entrance startled her. 

“Oh! Jenna, I wasn’t expecting to see you this early.” Shaking off her surprise, Liara smiled warmly as the human approached. She accepted a tender kiss from her dear friend and lover, meshing their fingers as Shepard settled into a chair next to her. “How are things going up there? Have we reached Alchera yet?”

“Not quite,” answered the Commander, checking the mission timer on her omni-tool. “We’ve still got about fifteen minutes or so before making orbit.”

“Is that how long you have here?” Asked the asari, seeming disappointed.

“It is, Liara. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have waited so long-”

“Don’t worry,” reassured the asari, squeezing her hand. “I think that’s enough time for me to show you what I’ve been working on.” She tapped a few keys on her interface to bring up the proper material, and then scooted out of the way so that her bondmate could have a closer look. 

What Shepard saw was a three-dimensional representation of Eingana, covered with markers for various objects of interest and other features. On the outside of the planet model was a line tracing what appeared to be the Normandy’s preplanned route around the planet, looping around it several times as was necessary for a full surface observation. Liara had matched several points in the ship’s path along the dark side of the planet to sets of coordinates on the surface, and had ascribed each a set of notes based on her hopes for the flyovers’ results. It was very detailed work, and the xenoarcheologist had accomplished it in little time versus what the Commander would have expected.

“I take it you found some places to look at after all, huh?” Shepard asked, smiling at her bondmate’s good fortune.

“Yes!” Liara replied, happily returning the gesture. “I didn’t think there would be much of note on that side of the planet, but I was wrong!” She turned back to her computer, zooming in to show the Commander one of the marked sites. “I won’t waste time explaining the coordinate system I generated for the locations, but I’ll tell you some about what I found. This, here, is one of the most interesting wreckages on its side of Eingana!” She zoomed in a bit more, and then selected one of a few tabs that appeared once she got close to the surface of the planet. A three-dimensional, mostly-complete wireframe model of what looked like a sandblasted hunk of metal came up on the screen.

“Is that a ship?” The Commander asked, trying to discern some kind of recognizable features from it. If anything, it was missing a lot of components- likely burnt off as the vessel fell towards the surface during whatever war it had fought in so long before. The scale on the model showed it as being just over one hundred meters long, so whatever it had been wasn’t very large by the standards of modern space navies.

“Only part of one,” Liara affirmed. “The back half, I believe. It was probably of cruiser type, or something similar, and is actually unique versus many other crashed vessels out there.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, for one, it is generally intact.” This statement made Shepard blink, as it very obviously was not the case.

“Wait. If you’re calling half of a ship ‘intact,’ then what’s the average condition?”

“Most of them are, as you would describe them, ‘blown to smithereens,’” the scientist replied. “However, most of those ships that were able to reach the surface at all likely did so in one piece. The destructions are largely because of outside intervention.”

“Were the ships blown up after they landed?” Shepard asked, now a bit more interested in the subject. 

“Probably, although no-one is entirely sure who did it. One thing that is for certain is that most of the vessels destroyed in that manner were large, one-way perhaps. It’s possible that it was done to prevent the other side from obtaining sensitive information or perhaps the ships themselves, but their proximity to what were likely old settlements has led to the scientific community believing what I told you earlier, what with the battle being a colonial struggle.” 

“So, they were landing-ships from the settlers, blown up by the invading fleet?” The Commander theorized. Liara nodded in agreement. 

“You know,” the asari started, turning back to the screen. “Another interesting thing about this ship, here, is that its construction is consistent with the ones thought to have been among the invading fleet. It might have been one of those to have struck the settlements, or perhaps was shot down after it happened. We won’t know, though, as those things are much older than the Protheans and what hands-on research there has been hasn’t resulted in any real information on the belligerents. Further investigation likely wouldn’t turn up much more, either, considering the state of most of the wreckages.” This reminded Shepard of how she had refused Liara any ability to land on Eingana for an up-close look at the artifacts there, and a feeling of guilt emerged as a frown upon her face. The asari noticed this, and followed with a soothing comment.

“Considering, I am sure that an investigation from afar shall be more than adequate. We do have to conform to our plan, after all, and Eingana is a harsh world anyway.” She gave the Commander’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and continued speaking. “Besides, I’ve already been to quite a few interesting places- You yourself have taken me to many. I’ve seen countless rare artifacts, uncovered history; even spoke with Vigil on Ilos! I will not be missing out on much, in comparison.”

This set the Commander rather well at ease. With any luck, they would be able to get what Liara wanted despite their suspicions about the system. If not, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing her bondmate. As she was about to thank the asari for her clarification, her omni-tool broke into the mix by chirping loudly. Growling at the interruption, the human rushed to link the incoming call to her earpiece. 

“Are we about to hit orbit?” She asked preemptively, making note of the fact that she was contacted a few minutes before she thought she would be. The voice on the other end answered, belonging to Navigator Pressly. 

“No, ma’am, but I think we’ve run into something much more important than trajectory adjustments.” The comment was very concerning, and she stood to get up.

“What is it, Pressly? Did we find the geth?” A worried frown came over Liara’s face as she stood up to follow the Commander out of the medical closet. They had already made it halfway through to the mess hall when the Navigator spoke again.

“Ah, I’m actually not sure, Commander. I think you need to come up here and look at it yourself.” This truly didn’t help at all, and the antsy human snapped at him in reply.

“Damn it, Charles, just tell me what’s going on! Is there something down on the surface?”

“No, ma’am!” came her subordinate’s reply, rushed. “It’s something in orbit, just came over the horizon in front of us. It’s big, real big, and it doesn’t look like any ship I know of- Not even geth!” The news made the Commander’s gut tie up in a knot, and her pace quickened as she neared the stairwell to the CIC. After instructing Liara to remain behind, she entered and began bounding up to the Normandy’s top deck. Before she was able to reach and open the door, however, a titanic thunderclap reverberated through the deck and knocked her into the wall. She heard a staccato series of cracks and snaps as something busted on the other side of the door, as well as the telltale thump of explosive decompression. 

The Commander slowly picked herself up off of the steps, ears ringing. She was obviously still alive, but the implications of the event were terrifying. Had the entire CIC just blown out? She was suddenly very aware that a vacuum warning was flashing on the door ahead of her, and klaxons were blaring to alert of a hull breach. Whoever was in the room when it happened was likely spaced, which at most only left a handful of crew behind the failsafe atmospheric barrier in the very front of the deck. This possibly left the Normandy operable to an extent, but it would be wasted if the rest of the crew perished. She swiftly moved back down to the stairwell entrance, pausing to check the pressure indicator on the doorframe. Thankfully, it was still normal. As she depressed the button to open the door, she gave thought to the ship’s situation.

If the enemy vessel could see them well enough to shoot them, that meant that they were in great danger due to their proximity to it. The ship would have to be fifty or sixty thousand kilometers away at most, which was nothing if they were heading right at it. The Normandy’s crew could have seconds to either escape or die, possibly minutes if they were lucky. Shepard made the decision to issue a lifeboat alert, entering the command code into her omni-tool as she exited into the Crew Deck once more.

All along the sides of the mess hall were launching ports for arrays of escape pods, able to hold six men apiece. There were eight of them on the Crew Deck, four in Engineering and another four connected to the CIC. Under normal circumstances, protocol would dictate where personnel from each deck would assemble for boarding the pods. This included some rear-CIC personnel moving down the stairwells to the lower deck, but after the breach those crewmen were assuredly gone. However, this still left a bit under three dozen personnel scrambling around in the mess hall and slightly fewer engineers on the deck below. 

The men and women on the Crew Deck were operating on their training, calmly and precisely donning vacuum suits despite their stress. Many were already stacking up to board the pods on either side of the room, but one thing was absent that scared the Commander. Where was her bondmate? Spotting Garrus among the human crew, she called him over. The turian had his own Hierarchy-standard survival suit mostly on, only lacking the helmet that he had tucked under his arm.

“Commander!” He exclaimed. “What happened up there?”

“Bad guys are shooting at us! Where the hell is Liara?!” The tall alien clicked his mandibles, looking over towards the medical bay. 

“She went back in there just a second ago, I think to get her computer! Do you want me to go grab her?” He was right on the money. Without another word, Shepard slapped him on the shoulder and pointed him towards the door. She was confident that he’d get Liara out quickly, and so as soon as he departed she went to address the rest of the crew.

“Everyone, listen up!” Heads turned in her direction as she connected her omni-tool to the ship’s intercom system and raised it to her mouth. “This is Commander Shepard to all crew of the SSV Normandy, we have been critically damaged! Board escape pods immediately, but do not launch unless I give the order! I repeat: Button up, but do not launch!” The crewmen around her quickly set about following her orders, finishing up suit checks and then stepping into the escape pods one at a time. As this was happening, Shepard beelined to her cabin and opened the door, promptly reaching under her bed to pull out her own personal survival suit.

The garment was a one-piece, full-body arrangement. It was constructed of airtight tear and puncture-resistant fabric composites, and was neatly folded and packed in a case alongside its matching helmet and life support system. The whole assembly weighed just over eight kilograms, and despite its size was actually rather compact when stowed. This was reversed when the Commander hastily tore the loose-fitting suit from its container, stepped into it from the front and pulled the collar down over her head. Sealing it was simple, as the helmet mount possessed the only necessary seal in the form of a neck dam, which inflated securely but not so tight as to restrict circulation. The helmet itself was fixed, and had a twin-function shatter-resistant faceplate assembly roughly reminiscent of early 21st century EVA suits. It incorporated a flashlight, wireless communication system and breathing mask to name a few features, but remained a very simple affair. After all, the suit was only intended to keep the wearer alive for a short duration.

As the Commander finished donning the survival suit, another explosion made the deck shudder beneath her boots. She clipped the life support system to a mount at her waist (it was quite compact, only being a pair of small oxygen canisters and an air scrubber) and secured its hoses to her helmet, slipping it over her head to lock it into her neck seal. A small, green light flashed several times on the omni-tool display attached to her left wrist as the suit’s pressure lines inflated to put the fabric under tension. This showed the Commander that her suit was in working order, thus leaving nothing else for her to do. Just as she was turning to leave her cabin, however, a call came in over her personal comms. With a sigh of relief, she realized that it was from her Navigator. 

“Pressly,” she began, accepting the hail. “Are you alright? What’s the situation?” 

“No, we have to get closer in,” he said urgently, speaking to someone else. “It’s the only option. Try for a burn with the remaining rockets; get us into orbit.” After he finished, Shepard heard him adjust his earpiece so that she could hear him better. “Commander, glad to hear from you. Things are looking bad from up here; we’ve lost damn near everything. Want the whole run-down, or just objective-pertinent?”

“Short version, please. I just want to know if we can either get out of here or, failing that, get into a safe position to fire pods. What do you have?” He was silent for a moment, likely pulling up relevant information to give her, and she used that time to open her cabin door. It slid aside to reveal that almost all of the crew present in the mess hall had gotten into and sealed the escape pods, the only exceptions being Garrus and Liara. The two were jogging out of the medical bay alongside Doctor Chakwas, heading towards the lifeboats on the right side of the room (the port side of the vessel). Thankfully, all of them were suited up and ready to go. 

“Commander!” Shouted the Normandy’s medical professional. “Are you talking to the CIC?” The woman may have drawn her inference from how Shepard had her fingers over the communications control buttons on the side of her helmet, but it was also just as likely that she was simply worried. Joker was her patient; her responsibility, and the prospect of any harm coming to the disabled pilot was probably terrifying to her.

“Yes, Karin,” she said gruffly. “It looks like the barrier went up in time to save the forward crew, but…that’s all there is.” The doctor seemed a mix between ecstatic and depressed as she received the news, but was interrupted by Garrus before she could speak.

“So how does it look, Shepard? I know you’re delaying because launching isn’t an option- what do we have left?” 

“I still don’t have the best picture of what’s happening, but we’re working on it. That’s all I can say.” This obviously did very little to ease everyone’s fears of the Normandy getting blown to pieces with them still on it. Before another question with a demoralizing answer could be asked, Pressly’s voice conveniently came over Shepard’s communicator.

“We’re in pretty bad shape, Commander, but I think we can make it provided that those bastards don’t decide to fry us first. Don’t know why they’ve let up, but they did.” Waving the trio before her off to their pods, Shepard responded.

“Well, let’s not let it go to waste. When can I expect us to be in position?”

“Five minutes, maybe a little less. I’d suggest that you come up here, though, ‘cause we’ve whipped up a bit of a plan for it that I’d rather discuss face-to-face than over radio.” Under normal circumstances, the Commander would have scoffed at the idea. However, with the mysterious ship having intercepted them seemingly out of nowhere, all while they had been under stealth… She decided that it’d be acceptable to assume that their personal transmissions could be monitored, however weak of a signal the enemy craft might be getting.

“Okay, I’ll be there momentarily.” She deactivated her comm unit and strode ahead, turning to approach the ground team’s assigned escape pod. Garrus had just finished helping Liara to get strapped into her crash seat, the turian sitting back into his own to let Ashley assist him. Wrex was positioned in a special, krogan-sized chair at the end of the pod, his considerable bulk taking up the space that would have been utilized by two normal seats on the side rows. He peered at her through the large eyeholes of his own vacuum suit.

“Shepard!” He said, pointing a thick, gloved finger at her. “I wouldn’t wait for the ship to explode, just give the order to jettison!”

“Jam it, crap-sack!” Ashley hissed, tightening up the final strap on Garrus’ harness. “I’m not a fan of dying, either, but burning up in atmo or drifting endlessly in space are bad ways to do it! Just wait, the Commander will get us out of this.” 

“I’m not sure how I feel about sitting here while we get shot at,” Garrus said, his mandibles clicking nervously. “How long until we can leave?” Almost on cue, another explosion elsewhere on the ship shook the deck. Evidently, their attackers had found it prudent to fulfill Pressly’s fears.

“Shortly,” said the Commander, getting increasingly agitated. “I need to get topside to discuss it with Pressly, I’ll tell you-“

“What?!” Exclaimed the Liara, her eyes widening behind her visor. “Why do you have to do that, can’t you stay?!” The asari was becoming frantic, and so Shepard grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to make eye contact.

“Liara, there is no other way to do this. As much as I’d like to stay here with you, arranging things over comms is too risky. I have to go, you understand? Our lives may depend on it.” The scientist wrestled with herself for a moment, and then seemed to capitulate. Her shoulders slumped, and the vise-like grip that she had placed around the human’s wrist slackened.

“Just tell me that you’ll stay safe, Jennifer,” she begged, voice low. “Please, that is all I want to hear.” Shepard nodded, standing up from her bondmate.

“I’ll do my best, Liara. You know I can’t say any more.” An explosion made the pod rattle in its fitting, further emphasizing the danger of the situation. She decided that she needed to get away from the others and into the CIC as fast as possible, not wanting to be standing around if there was another hull breach. “Look,” she started, beginning to back away. “I need to go, right now! I’ve already stood around here for far too long!” She broke away from the asari’s grasp, and then backed out the door of the lifepod. “I’ll see you on the other side,” she said, reaching for the button to close the hatch. Garrus and Wrex both nodded to her respectfully, and Ashley gave her a salute.

“Good luck, Commander!” The Marine shouted, her superior returning her gesture before she turned around to leave the pod. She caught Liara’s eye just before she closed the door, noticing how the woman’s face was deathly pale. Her bondmate tried to say something to her, but it was drowned out by the noise of yet another explosion- this time very close and making the interior of the compartment ring like a bell. The airlock irised into place between them, and the human immediately sprinted towards the stairwell to the CIC. She noted that the pressure indicator still showed a normal reading, and so she opened the door and ran up the steps for the second time in a short while. Then came the hard part.

The vacuum warning was still flashing, making it all the more obvious that the ship’s breach reaction systems had failed to plug the hole in the CIC. That meant that if and when she opened the door in front of her, all of the air within the stairwell compartment would rush out- quite possibly taking her into space with it, or at least that would be the case if artificial gravity was off on the deck ahead of her and the breach was big enough. Not wanting to take an incredibly slow tour of the universe, she locked her arm into one of the zero-gravity handholds on the wall next to her. What would have been a potentially unused feature of the ship became her lifeline as she keyed in the override to make the door open.

The device slid to the side, but before it was even fully retracted most of the atmosphere in the stairwell had already rushed out at several hundred kilometers per hour. It was incredibly loud for less than a second, and then, nothing. Shepard stepped away from the wall that she had pressed herself against, releasing her deathgrip on the handle and turning to face the doorway. She nearly fell down from surprise, however, as she realized that she was looking into open space.

Well, not completely. The bulk of the CIC was structurally intact, but a huge oval-shaped hole was cut through the ceiling that bored into the inner hull in a rough semicircle towards the rear of the opening. It looked like some kind of gigantic laser had been directed against the ship from the front, melting and vaporizing much of the compartment’s upper hull in an instant and sending everything that wasn’t secured into space. Surfaces near the hole glittered with microscopic droplets of solidified metal vapor, and a great portion of the room was charred- likely from the intense flash of the laser’s penetration of the compartment. The only light was either indirect or came from the tritium markings aglow over various surfaces, but the stars outside shone like little laser pointers and forced the Commander to lower her gold-tinted visor cover.

The front portion of the CIC was about thirty meters ahead of her, around the larger room’s crew stations and through a wide hallway that formerly housed many of the Normandy’s systems controllers. She couldn’t quite see the cabin, but the glow from its atmospheric barrier’s projection surfaces cast light down the passageway. Shepard decided to take the first, exploratory step into the CIC, and was utterly unsurprised when she began to float up off of the deck. The laser’s penetration of the hull had knocked out the primary power systems, and with them the artificial gravity plating under the deck. She grabbed onto another handhold on the adjacent wall and forced herself back against the ground.

She concentrated for a moment, and her skin began to tingle as a shimmering blue aura appeared around her. She used her biotics to effectively weld her boots to the floor, and then alternated between them as she made slow progress towards the neck of the CIC. She flicked on her helmet light in a red tone, making things a little easier to see without disturbing her night vision. She nearly jumped out of her skin, however, as she was faced with a corpse. It was floating arms-up in the first seat on the left side of the hall, held into it by a lap belt. Why the crewman had been sitting with the belt in place she didn’t know, but because of it they had died right at their station. The crewman was blackened all over their left side and back, which must have been facing the rear chamber of the Combat Information Center as the hull was vaporized. The rest of them was hardly recognizable, and Shepard couldn’t even tell what sex they were due to the way that the corpse was damaged. Holding one’s breath in a vacuum had a way of making them pop like a balloon. 

The Commander said a silent prayer for the poor souls who had been caught in the CIC only a short time before, moving past the corpse and into the passageway to the front of the compartment. The section immediately by the airlock and little bit down from it was still inhabited, shown plainly enough by the group of people moving around behind the transparent barrier. Most obvious among them was Navigator Pressly, as he was the only one standing up. The seven seats in the room each had a crewman in them, being the Helmsman, Thrust-man, Astrogation, the Controllers for Power and Imaging Systems, and finally the two in charge of the Weapons and PD stations. Pressly was moving back and forth between every one of them, getting updates and giving out orders. Not for the first time, Shepard was glad to have him as her Executive Officer.

Due to the fact that all of those within the compartment seemed to be fully suited, the Commander decided to walk right in. For any non-biotic, doing so would be nigh impossible without first deactivating the field that was holding the cabin’s atmosphere in place. However, such a limitation did not apply to her. She formed a pulsing barrier around herself that melded with the field as she touched it, and with a bit of a squeezing feeling she was able to force herself through without creating a hole. Pressly, having seen her approach, wasn’t half as surprised as the rest of the crew to suddenly have Shepard within their midst.

“Commander, good to see you made it up in one piece!” The Navigator put up a salute, which was quickly mirrored by the rest of the remaining staff and returned by their superior. She raised her visor and deactivated her headlamp, surveying the room. 

“Alright, Pressly, give it to me. I want to know what our resources are, and then I want to hear about this plan of yours.“ The man brought up his omni-tool, conjuring status readouts from the Normandy’s systems. 

“Well, we don’t have much, ma’am, but I think it’s enough to do what we need to. For one, we don’t have the reactor anymore. Coolant systems got shot out as we were trying to start it, and so that takes away the torch, FTL, main gun and the GARDIANs. Most of the fuel cells are still working, though, so there’s that. The chemical boosters in the forward direction are both fried, as are the first and third on the rear. The other two are damaged, but we’ve certified that they’re still workable.” He seemed to review his information, and then straightened somewhat. “Oh, and I forgot to mention that we’ve lost most of our sensors. The majority of what’s left is on the belly of the ship, but that does give us some options when we factor in that our missile magazines are intact.” 

“How about this ‘plan’ of yours,” The Commander asked. “I take it that it involves rolling over, spamming the enemy PD with missiles and then launching the pods under cover, correct?”

“Precisely!” The Navigator exclaimed. “I think that once we get a good look at them and start shooting, we just might be able to get away with launching the pods. Doubly so, considering that we still have ejected countermeasures.” The idea was coming together in the Commander’s head, and she nodded to Pressly. 

“Alright, here’s how I see it: Sometime in the next couple of minutes, we roll belly-up and then use our radars and other sensors for a second before they get burnt off. Then, we use that imagery to figure out where to shoot our missiles, and then let loose our magazines. When the other ship is busy dealing with that, we fire off whichever pod bank is most convenient and support it with chaff and thermals. We continue rolling, and then the next bank goes with its own set of countermeasures.” She sighed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “It isn’t much, and still leaves our pods vulnerable after the Normandy runs out of ordnance, but it’s all we can do. 

“Let’s get on it.”

The next minute or so was hectic as everyone worked to automate as much of the maneuver as possible. They decided that the ship was going to roll to starboard as soon as they began, and that would be the side from which the first wave of life pods was going to launch. When this happened, they would have a moment before the enemy ship was within the line of sight of their sensors, making it risky on the part of the first wave’s participants. In order to mitigate this somewhat, they were going to cold-launch a bunch of missiles (the Normandy had a combat load of several dozen) and get them pointed in roughly the right direction before the sensors could even see the enemy. Once they did, however, and the fire control computers could piece together guidance algorithms for the ordnance, it would be a race to fill the enemy’s defensive screen with enough missiles to either keep them busy for a while or to inflict a disabling hit. The bulk of their missiles were nuclear, so one could hope.

Once the first wave was launched and the ship was rolling over to present its port side towards Alchera, the rest of the maneuver was to be done completely without the crew’s intervention. All those in the CIC were to board the pods that they had adjacent to the entry lock, and once Shepard gave the order for the second wave to launch, that would be it. With any luck, the countermeasures that were being launched alongside the pods would presumably keep most of them from getting zapped, but once they isolated themselves in orbit anything could happen. If the enemy ship wasn’t disabled or destroyed (which would be great), they could decide to hunt down the pods one by one. That, or they might just be nice enough to leave them alone- only time would tell.

The Normandy was nearing the point that the CIC crew had decided upon as the initiator for their maneuver, and so everyone was getting ready. The room was in a hush as the timer slowly ticked down to zero…

It was time. Shepard saw as Joker used the ship’s attitude thrusters to roll to starboard, and brought up her omni tool. She keyed into the shipwide personnel channel, and spoke directly to every crewmember aboard who was still breathing. 

“This is Commander Shepard! Starboard pods, launch! I repeat, only starboard pods, launch immediately!” A series of thumps could be heard as over thirty individuals jettisoned into space, followed by the sound of chaff canisters and thermal decoys being launched alongside the pods. The enemy ship, at that moment, was likely witnessing an expanding cloud of radar contacts that would be interfering with their ability to make the pods out individually- except by infrared imaging, which itself would be thrown off by the large number of apparent contacts versus the comparatively small number of lifeboats. As the Normandy rolled over further, the enemy ship itself came into view for the first time in a good while. 

“Jesus Christ, that thing is huge!” The Commander exclaimed, jaw agape. It was close to twice the width of a human dreadnought, and was even a good bit longer to boot. It looked like a gigantic metal cylinder, with massive, uneven protrusions from the main body that appeared almost organic in form. She knew that Pressly had described it as ‘big,’ but its sheer scale was entirely unexpected. What the hell was it?

“Yeah, I know!” Related Joker, ever undaunted by circumstances. “You think it’s a Reaper?”

“I don’t fucking know- Daniels, light it up!” The woman at the Weapons Station moved her hands quickly over her interface, and soon enough the Commander had confirmation that the Normandy’s missiles were accelerating swiftly towards the unknown vessel. Shepard was suddenly having doubts as to whether they might be able to disable it after all, but that was swiftly out of her mind as she and the rest of those in the CIC went to assemble in the pods. Joker activated the autopilot systems as two other crewmen picked him up from his seat, and everyone in the compartment filed into the airlock space. Through a door on their left was a trio of lifeboats, of which all were to be used- three crewmen per pod, to maximize the probability of survival for each one’s occupants.

“Launch is gonna hurt, Jeff,” Shepard told the man, patting his shoulder as he was carried past her. He gave her a dreading grimace in response.

“Yeah, well, I’ve heard that getting your ribs broken really isn’t that bad after the fifth or sixth time.” He winced as his crewmates lowered him into a crash seat in the first pod, helping him to tighten the harness to his frail form without getting injured in the process. Shepard stood back as the first two lifeboats filled up, checking to ensure that they were properly handled. As the second door closed, Shepard, Pressly and Fred Cook- the Normandy’s Thrust-man- were the last remaining. As the two men strapped in, Shepard took a last look around the compartment. It was likely the last she was going to see of the Normandy. As she did so, two things happened simultaneously: The second launch prompter she had set up on her omni-tool started going nuts, and she heard another compartment decompress below. Not just any compartment, however- It had to be the Crew Deck. 

The Commander rushed to the doorway at the end of the airlock, taking a quick look at the rotating Systems Status model of the ship that the group had brought up on a holoscreen. Sure enough, the Crew Deck had lost atmosphere, but all of the pods still looked fine. Her relief making no sort of dent in her urgency, she switched off her buzzing alarm and tied into the intercom again.

“All remaining pods, launch now! I say again, abandon ship!” The cabin shook as the two lifeboats immediately next to her blasted free of their fittings, moving into planetary orbit. The countermeasures again launched in formation with the pods, and then Shepard realized that she was late. It didn’t matter, though, as she didn’t even make it to the open lifeboat before her. 

As the Commander was nearing the door, the ceiling several paces ahead simply vanished in a flash of incandescent, vaporized metal and insulation. Everything went white as Shepard’s optical nerves were fried, instant flash burns charring her face as her suit grew incredibly hot. Not that this truly registered to her, though, as she was thrown backward and her helmet made contact with the doorframe. To her, it was simply a flash of excruciating pain as she lost her sight, and then a hard crack as everything below her jaw went numb. After that, she swiftly perished.

 

 

Shepard slowly began to feel…something. A slight prickling sensation, barely registering against the dense fog that was draped over her thoughts. Growing by the moment, ever so slightly. It gradually became a buzz, an annoyance. This annoyance quickly turned to pain, however, as the sensation grew to be like fire, singeing every nerve of her body as she came to feel it. It was like a million ants crawling on her skin- digging, biting, stinging! She opened her eyes to pure whiteness, overwhelming and excruciating. She quickly slammed them shut again, but the pain was still there.

Her arms were simultaneously stiff and weak, not wanting to cooperate with her as she tried to bring them to her face to shield her vision. She was lying on her back, unable to move, tortured by the horrible burning until all of a sudden she began to hear. It was muffled, as if her ears were plugged with cotton, but hear she did. It wasn’t much at first, but she started to make out voices- two of them. A woman with an Australian accent was speaking urgently to someone else, almost sounding afraid.

“What’s happening with her vitals? She almost seems like…she’s waking up. She’s waking up!” A male voice cut in, low and gravelly.

“Brain’s showing reaction to outside stimuli! Sedate her, heavy dose! She isn’t ready!” Was he talking about her? Shepard was in too much pain to care, though, and cracked open her eyes again to find that it was much easier to see the second time around. She was lying on a table in what appeared to be some kind of hospital, with bright light strips and folded operating armatures overhead. She couldn’t see much beyond that, however, and she decided to attempt to sit up. It was incredibly difficult, and it made the fire around her belly even worse, but she managed to raise herself onto her elbows as her head lolled forwards. 

There were a number of people rushing about before here, all wearing white surgery scrubs. They looked at her with concerned fright, and she tried to speak, to ask them what was wrong with her. She couldn’t, though, as something was in her mouth. Her hand went to her face, coming to rest on a mass of tubes that were tied together and led into her nose and throat. He hated the feeling of it being there, and so she started pulling. Two of the orderlies nearby immediately grabbed her arm before she could get the tubes out, and she struggled with them for a moment. Despite how weak she felt, they were having difficulty keeping her hands in place. She started moving her legs against the table to gain better leverage and get them off of her, but a third came in with a syringe and jabbed it into her shoulder. The person, a pale-skinned woman with dark hair, stayed at Shepard’s side as she started to feel very heavy.

“Stay calm, Jennifer,” she said, revealing herself as the woman whom the Commander had heard speaking before. “Don’t move. Everything’s going to be alright.” The woman’s face was the last thing that Shepard saw as she lapsed once more into a dreamless, drug-induced sleep.


	2. Treachery

CHAPTER TWO: TREACHERY

Lazarus Research Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula

1415 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Thursday, August 4th, 2185

Director Miranda Lawson cradled her forehead in her gloved hands, frustrated by the situation. One of the most important tests of her project had gone awry, nearly resulting in damage to its lone subject- Commander Shepard. The woman had been under the knife ever since she was recovered roughly three weeks after her demise, undergoing extensive efforts to reconstruct her, upgrade her- make her better than new. And all of that had almost been ruined due to her Chief Medical Officer’s blundering. 

“Wilson!” She snapped, uncovering her face to glare at the man. “I told you that she’d develop a resistance eventually, and now here we are. She could have killed herself, and then we’d have to start all over again!” The balding subordinate gave her a blank stare, an annoying action that he had started using more frequently with her. 

“Well, how could I have known it’d wake her up? Nothing else we’ve done has come anywhere near bringing her out of comatose.” Miranda huffed at his foolishness.

“You know that we have to plan for all possibilities,” she scolded. “That’s something I’ve been telling you since day one. For example,” she stated, watching his expression grow into more of a glower behind his sanitation mask. “If anything that you do may have the possibility to excite the brain to consciousness, you compensate with a higher dose of barbiturates- especially if it’s suspected that the subject could resist them. See, you have to be prepared.”

“Well,” he practically shouted, clearly flustered by her advice. “We didn’t prep for surgery, now, did we?!” It took her half a second to realize what he was talking about, but then she concluded that he was referencing what she had told him about Shepard nearly rupturing her most recent cloned transplant liver. It was true, though. When the subject had woken up and started moving around, she stressed the sutures holding the organ in place. It hadn’t yet healed, and massive internal bleeding was a possibility that they had only managed to avoid due to her timely action. 

“That’s beside the point, Brad! If you’d done your job, we wouldn’t have had to worry about that in the first place!” He made a snort of disgust and became suddenly engrossed in his diagnostics terminal. This disrespectful behavior of his was infuriating to Miranda, and made her think- not for the first time- of having him replaced. That would be dealt with after Project Lazarus was concluded, however, as he happened to be a valuable asset himself. While being a generally frustrating underling to work with, he had his uses and was easily the most experienced of her general staff. 

Regarding the unconscious form of her subject, Miranda decided that she needed to write a report on the incident to the Illusive Man. It was good for him to know what had happened, as well as what measures they were going to take against such a thing occurring again. Before she left the room, she instructed one of the orderlies to slightly increase the dosage of the barbiturate drip. No harm in ensuring asset security.

One elevator ride and two minutes of walking later, the Director wound up in her personal quarters in the station’s Administration section. It was a nice place- it had to be for her to live in it for almost two years- and everything was kept just right within for it to be an ideal working environment to accompany her office. The only thing missing was her own quantum entanglement communicator, which would be much more convenient than having to go all the way to the resident device that just so happened to be located on the opposite end of the level. She was the only person who used it, anyway, and so what was the purpose of it being so far off?

She cleared her thoughts as she sat down at her desk, beginning work on the report. It wasn’t anything complicated, but nonetheless she included recommendations for actions following the project- particularly involving staff choices. Other information that she touched on was how the mishap was going to affect the course of their work, as any more tests along the lines of that which resulted in the Commander’s unexpected awakening had to be executed and monitored differently. It was even possible that they would have to forego the practice altogether, and resort to therapy following the subject’s scheduled revival not but a month or so ahead.

The testing that it would potentially replace was meant to calibrate Shepard’s brand-new biotic implants, which had to be adapted to her nervous system one way or another in order to work. The faulted trial from before had attempted to go about this via artificial stimulation of the subject’s nerves with implanted electrodes, but if that was going to pose problems in the way of possibly waking her up, it might be preferable to pursue calibration after she was already healed from the various reconstructive procedures. This after-the-fact therapy would be less than desirable, however, considering what it involved- cooperation with aliens.

Now, Miranda had no particular hatred towards humanity’s galactic neighbors, but she certainly didn’t want to involve them in Cerberus’ affairs. It had been hard enough to ask Liara T’Soni for help in recovering Shepard in the first place, but exposing an asari matriarch to Project Lazarus was surely worse. It could pose a security risk, if nothing else, and who could say that even the one handpicked by the Illusive Man himself could be trusted? One of them had already decided to follow Saren on a quest to annihilate the entire galaxy, so there was no real way to ensure that they were truly competent- no matter how old they were. Possibly-unfounded distrust aside, she simply didn’t like to outsource her project’s needs to others. She was confident that she could get done what was required with her own resources, but, of course, alternatives had to be considered. After a good while of writing, her report was complete and she sent it through to her superior. Sitting back for a moment, she allowed her mind to wander to that afternoon’s incident once more. 

It was obvious that something needed to be done considering the rather terrifying occurrence, but what it would be was unclear. It was probably a good idea to permanently increase the dosage for the medication keeping the Commander in her coma, but other measures had to be taken to prevent further problems if that didn’t work. For them to have any chance of getting the calibration done on their own time, they had to be able to guarantee that Shepard could not get up again and hurt herself. Restraints would be in order. But what if, once her implants were already calibrated, she did wake up? That morning had shown the reality that she would be confused, possibly angry. From the trouble that she gave the orderlies even while heavily medicated, it could be much worse once her biotics were functioning. Perhaps it would be necessary to undertake preventative measures.

A kill-switch of sorts seemed most preferable, maybe something to interrupt the connection between her implants and her brain, or perhaps to completely prevent her from moving. This way, if something bad were to happen, she would be prevented from causing harm to herself or to others. In any event, the cybernetics managing her organs would keep them, and therefore her body, functioning properly even if her spinal connection was interrupted. No real harm- just a corrective surgery, and then she’d be good to go again. But this wouldn’t be an option if they were to fit within the schedule organized by the Illusive Man, nor would it be a good idea to strip out and modify her brain implants specifically for the kill switch. Brain surgery was hard enough, even without having to worry about doing it over a dozen times again. 

Perhaps it would be a good idea to go the chemical route. They had already installed the necessary hardware via the Illusive Man’s request for Atlas Project-based augmentations. The performance enhancement chemical injectors could be used to flood Shepard with drugs to make her compliant, should it be necessary, or perhaps biotic suppressants or other substances depending on the situation. In addition to mitigating immediate problems, this could also be used in the long run to make her more agreeable to Cerberus’ goals, which would make her more usable as an asset. As Miranda thought about it, her idea seemed to get better and better, eventually resulting in her writing out a whole document on the subject and possible methods by which to achieve the desired results. She was almost ready to submit it to the Illusive Man for review when she happened upon a realization.

From the very beginning of the Lazarus Project, the Cerberus leader had held the view that altering Shepard’s personality was absolutely unacceptable. He had articulated his desire for her to remain just as she was before her death (on a mental level, at least), and had not wavered at all since. So, why would he ever allow her proposal to come to fruition? Regardless of the possible benefits that she saw in the behavior modification, it was of almost no likelihood that he would agree with her methods of asset security. Rather, he would prefer to bank on the Commander’s gratefulness to be alive, alongside a few friendly faces, to keep her loyal. It had been Miranda’s unspoken position for some time was that that was foolish (which the Illusive Man surely wasn’t, but he did let his ideology get in the way of his better judgment at times), and she had come up with a way to make it work. If everything went well, she wouldn’t even need to let him know.

Miranda drafted an order to her R&D section to set to work on a method to achieve the effects that she wanted. She was confident that they would complete it before the end of the allowable surgery period, which was in roughly two weeks. Two weeks to synthesize an injection, fabricate a specialized applicator and then incorporate it into Shepard’s cybernetics- piece of cake. Mostly, it would depend on how fast the department could come up with a solution and deliver the product (the latter of which could most likely be developed from the cybernetics equipment already available on-station), with the installation being trivial in comparison considering the hundreds of individual times they had already cut Shepard open on the operating table. This had Miranda feeling quite comfortable with the prospects as she sent the order, and she ended that day feeling that she had set in motion what would ensure Cerberus’ success in the future. With the potential of having humanity’s greatest hero so firmly rooted to their cause, who wouldn’t feel as she did?

 

Lazarus Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula

0920 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Saturday, August 14th, 2185

Chief Medical Officer Bradley Wilson sat bleary-eyed in front of his terminal, coffee in hand as he read through a summary report of the night’s events. The automatically generated document said much of the usual: Cybernetics fully functional, all organs operating perfectly (actually a newer trend with the most recent round of transplants) and just about nil brain activity. At least nothing had happened that would get the Ice Queen raving at him again.

Upon thinking of Miranda, his thoughts soured. All he really wanted at that point was for the project to conclude, and for him to finally be rid of the woman’s constant nagging and condescension- plus a hefty payment from Cerberus for job completion, which was looking ever sweeter as the project deadline approached. If there was one good thing he could say about his superior, it was that she was organized in the extreme and had assured that they were going to make the schedule with no problems. As soon as Shepard was awoken (which, considering what he had seen earlier, would likely be a difficult experience), he would get a massive sum of credits dropped in his lap along with a do-whatever-the-hell-you-want-with-it-as-long-as-you-don’t-spoil-OPSEC-or-die permittance. He’d be totally free for however long the Illusive Man desired to allow it, and then he would find himself on another job. He didn’t have any way of knowing how long that period would be, but he supposed that he’d face that bridge when he crossed it.

Wilson decided to look at the Lazarus Project’s schedule once more, imagining the various ways he’d spend his earnings once everything was wrapped up. The custom-tailored copy that he accessed had all of his various duties placed on it, and he was delighted to find that he had very little to do in the next few days. However, something was present that hadn’t been there the night before. 

It was an order for surgery, placed on the next afternoon and marked for “manual cybernetics inspection and maintenance.” Why would that be necessary? All of the devices that the Lazarus Project medical staff had implanted Shepard with had been designed to last for decades, and were vetted for quality by top-tier bionics engineers before use. Considering that the setup had gone to plan and the readouts were perfect, what use was there in slicing her open again just to look? He needed to ask someone about it, but going straight to Miranda was not an option that he’d want to take. Instead, he called up Stephen Hurler- his equivalent in the Lazarus Cell’s Cybernetics Research and Applications department. It took a moment for his colleague to pick up, and when he did Wilson was greeted with a yawn.

“Hey, Brad,” the Chief Technician greeted sleepily. “It’s been a while. What do you need?”

“Steve, did I just wake you up?” Wilson questioned. “Sure sounds like it.”

“Yeah,” the man replied. “Ice Queen gave me extended bed hours, would you believe it?”

“Well, what for? I can’t imagine she’d just hand it to you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear, honestly. She’s had my whole department up for the last four days working on another injector system for Sleeping Beauty. It’s totally separate from the Atlas stuff- don’t know why- and supposed to go in sometime soon as well. You get an update?”

“Yeah, I did,” the Medical Officer said, scrutinizing the order on his monitor. “But it says the surgery is ‘maintenance.’ The hell do you think that’s about?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you what’s going in with the cybernetics.” This sure piqued Wilson’s interest, and his colleague elaborated after a moment of waiting. “Okay, so I asked one of the Chem guys about it yesterday morning. He only told me a little bit, but from what I can gather the system’s supposed to be mood regulating. It’ll make her real agreeable, maybe even susceptible to conditioning if my conjecture’s accurate. Miranda really wants this for ‘asset security,’ so expect her to be riding you like a kid pony to get it done.” Wilson let out an exasperated sigh in response.

“Well, shit. Looks like things just got that much more complicated for me.”

“So it appears.”

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me know, Steve. I’ll talk to you later.” Wilson moved to end the call, but his colleague hung up first- likely eager to return to sleep. However, the Chief Medical Officer was about as far from it as he could get. What he had just learned was incredibly important, dangerous even. 

He had nearly concrete proof that Miranda Lawson was stepping outside her bounds as Director of the Lazarus Cell.

Now, this likely wasn’t something that anybody but himself and Miranda were aware of. The expectations and limitations that the Illusive Man had put in place were more privileged information, and the Director was officially the only one privy to that kind of knowledge. She was able to inform those under her command at her discretion, but considering that she had kept everything under wraps for the length of the project, one would expect that she was the only one who knew. That was not the case.

Unbeknownst to anyone but himself and a spare few, Wilson held an occupation outside of his official duties within the Lazarus Project. It was that of being the Illusive Man’s personal contact within the overarching Cell (although there could very well be more, and he had no way of knowing). It was his job to inform the Cerberus leader of the various things going on throughout the course of the operation, giving him an alternate perspective versus what was and wasn’t disclosed in the Director’s reports. It was a way to keep her in check without her knowing, and as evidenced by the problem it was going to solve, it worked.

Wilson concluded that leaving his post so soon after work had started would be suspicious, and so he would have to wait until later to contact the Illusive Man. The next four hours went by at an agonizing crawl as he sat at his desk, unable to take his mind off of what was happening. He answered questions from his underlings, had a discussion over the future of cybernetics with one of his peers and even got a meeting request from Miranda slated for later that day. Through all of this, however, the question still remained in his mind about what would happen when he revealed the Director’s plan to his superior. The Illusive Man was rumored to be unforgiving when it came to insubordination, but what would happen to one of his most senior officials at the apex of an immensely important project was anyone’s guess. For all Wilson knew, she could get off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist- or, alternatively, disappear without a trace.

As the time ticked over to 12:30, it was time for lunch. Wilson swiftly got up from his desk and proceeded to the station’s mess hall, grabbing his food and taking it into his cabin on the Staff Housing floor. He set it aside without another glance, however, as he wasn’t there to eat. His personal computer’s interface sprang forth at his prompting, a holographic screen coalescing in the air above his workspace to showcase his various resources. He opened up a command window, keying in a memorized string of letters and numbers that resulted in another application opening. This one was special, and would have been just about impossible to find in his storage unless you knew exactly what to look for.

The new display that popped up was simply an empty box with a cursor flashing on the upper left, no identifying titles or other information present. He entered a simple message:

[Need to speak to TIM. Important business to discuss.] The statement was being transferred securely through Lazarus Station’s quantum entanglement communicator, and so there was absolutely no lag before it reached its destination- his superior’s business handling staff. It wasn’t exactly a direct line of communication, but it was close enough. Wilson quickly received a response.

[He is busy at the moment. Priority?] There were roughly fifty minutes on the clock until Wilson would be expected back at his station, and so he could likely stand to wait a little while. Despite what his information meant for the Lazarus Cell and Cerberus as a whole, it probably wouldn’t take that long to go over it with his superior. Taking this into account, he elected to be humble.

[Medium.]

[Very well. You should be able to contact him in three hours.] Shit. That wasn’t an option for his timeframe, and waiting until the afternoon probably wasn’t the best idea considering the schedule for the operation. As such, he decided to mess up whatever plans his superior might have had for the next portion of the day.

[Not enough time, valuable information involved. Reclassify?] The person (or people) on the other end took a moment to reply, but when they did, he let out his breath.

[Affirmative. You have been rescheduled for direct communication in five minutes.]

Wilson acknowledged them, taking the opportunity to pull up the relevant information on his omni-tool and to grab a bite from his neglected meal. Within a short time, the screen flashed with an incoming voice message. Wilson hastened to insert an earpiece communicator, connecting it to his omni-tool and accepting the call.

“Operative Wilson,” the Illusive Man opened, his rough voice holding a hint of annoyance. “I have just interrupted politics to hear what you have to say. I judge it’s important?” 

“Yes, sir, it is!” Wilson was incredibly nervous, but he tried not to show it as he spoke. “I’ve learned that Director Lawson is specifically going against your orders.”

“How so? Has she wavered in her commitment to the project?”

“No, sir, I don’t think so. Rather… I think she’s going too far. She’s trying to implant Shepard with some sort of mind control device- I just learned about it this morning.” The Illusive Man waited to reply, likely mulling it over, and then returned with a question.

“Has she said why? I take it it has something to do with the scare during your neuroexcitation procedure.”

“I’m not entirely sure, sir, but I think you’re right. She seems to believe that Shepard could be dangerous once we wake her up, and so she wants to use the implant to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Well,” the Cerberus Leader said, “you do know what I think about keeping Shepard the way she was, and so I won’t pontificate. What you need to understand, however, is that you are now my prime asset in making sure that Lawson doesn’t succeed.” Wilson’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Wait, sir, what…what do you mean?”

“I mean that it’s now your job to disrupt operations. Shepard is well healed by now, correct?”

“Um… Yeah, I guess. The actual no-surgery period is still in about five days, but it’s been a while since Shepard was cut open and everything is in good shape.” Wilson slowly got an inkling of what might possibly be his superior’s idea, and became even more frightened by the circumstances. “Wait… You aren’t wanting me to wake her up early, are you?”

“That remains to be seen,” said the Illusive Man, doing very little to settle Wilson’s nerves. “For now, I want you to return to your own business. I’ll be having a mission profile transferred to you within the next few hours, along with any other information necessary for you to fulfill my goals. I trust that you will do what needs to be done.”

“Yes, sir,” Wilson said belatedly. The call cut, and he sank his head into his hands. Whatever his superior wanted him to do, it was probably going to incredibly risky. Perhaps it would even be something like Operative Rasa’s stealing of the clone trial during the previous year. He had a humorless laugh at the thought of himself trying to push an unconscious Shepard out to the docking bay under a hail of gunfire. Rubbing his temples, he wallowed in thoughts of his poor prospects for a moment before deciding that he really couldn’t help things by sitting around and feeling sorry for himself. Perhaps the Illusive Man would find a way for things to happen safely, and maybe even have Captain Taylor arrest Miranda. Boy, would that be a sight to see.

Wilson finished off his cold lunch, casting the remains into a waste receptacle as he stepped out of his room. It was a quick trip back to the Medical floor, where he spent the next two hours vegetating. Suddenly, his omni-tool chirped to alert him of a message. He hurried to activate his earpiece again, but then realized that it wasn’t a voice or video call. Instead, it was all text and data. Wilson looked around him to ensure that no-one else was nearby (in a mess of workspaces, this was a problem), and once he knew that he could be discreet, he opened the message.

It was, indeed, the mission profile that the Illusive Man had had his teams draft up for him. Wilson read through the first section, which essentially told him what he already knew about how Miranda’s goal of putting Shepard under mind control made the Cerberus leader unhappy. The next bit, however, was what made Wilson scared. The profile stated that drastic action would have to be taken to prevent the implantation, because if Wilson simply refused, someone more willing would likely take his place. If he cited the Illusive Man’s orders, Miranda could easily discount him. There were a number of reasons why such approaches wouldn’t work, and it all added up to Wilson needing to do something crazy.

That was where one of the attached files came in. It was a program that he was supposed to download to an OSD and transfer to Lazarus Station’s security mainframe- in particular the bit of it that controlled the guard mechs. It would activate every single unit present, even those in networked storage (for emergencies), and turn the whole area into a no-go zone for the staff that was enforced with lethal measures. The only people exempt from this directive would be Wilson and Shepard, meaning that he was supposed to practically guarantee the deaths of all of his friends and coworkers. It was what the Illusive Man wanted, though, and he could bet that if the Cerberus leader was ruthless enough to hand him such a mission, violent housecleaning would likely happen no matter what he did. Indeed, the rumors must have been true.

The two remaining files in the package were both very obvious in use, one being an autopilot program for one of Lazarus Station’s resident cargo transports (complete with sets of coordinates for FTL jumps and the like, although Wilson had no idea what they meant) and the other being a program for falsifying his personal ID. The included instructions explained that it would make his digital badge, which was data-linked to his omni-tool, display him as being Director Lawson. He could access whatever functions were permitted to her (all of them), and any security locks would automatically open at his prompting regardless of the reason for their presence. The only problem would be the mechs, which had facial-recognition software that would register that his face didn’t match Miranda’s. That was also provided for by some kind of virus that would make them give Wilson the go-ahead whenever they accessed the falsified ID records. It was all very complicated and out of his experience, but he thought he understood the gist of it.

With all of these items at hand and the orders laid out, it was Wilson’s responsibility to make things happen. The Illusive Man had left it open as to how the operative would approach the escape (as nobody among the Cerberus leader’s staff knew Lazarus Station’s environment as well as he did), and so he would have to figure out when he would set the mechs loose and how to get Shepard through to the transport in one piece. While the entire situation sickened him with fear and prospective guilt, it was not without its challenge. This made the mission as exciting as it was nerve-wracking, and he wanted as much to complete it for the greater good as he did to save his own skin. It was the only way he could make it, after all- displeasing the Illusive Man was surely as much of a death sentence as getting shot up by mechs, if his limited experience with the character could show it.

Just as Wilson was beginning to piece together his plan, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. It startled him, and he swiveled around in his seat to see Eddie Greene, a bright young Reconstructive Therapy surgeon under his command, waiting for him.

“Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said, making a tone and expression indicating that his business was less than pleasing. “The Director is requesting you in her office, says it’s important.” Wilson checked the clock on his omni-tool, and then realized that it was already time for their meeting- past it, actually. As he made to get up, the junior medical professional before him spoke again. “She sounds irritated, though, so look out. I guess you might have missed a couple of alerts or something.” Wilson clapped him on the shoulder in thanks, grimacing as he strode off to meet the Ice Queen. 

 

Lazarus Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula

1840 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Saturday, August 14th, 2185

Miranda, despite her disappointment with Wilson, was relieved to see him appear outside her door. This didn’t change the way that she was going to address him, however, because he still needed to learn responsibility. Also, she simply enjoyed toying with him.

“Come in, Bradley. You’ve spent enough time dawdling about, now, and we need to get to work.” Predictably, this deepened the scowl that the Chief Medical Officer already had on his face. Miranda waited for Wilson to enter her office, and then directed him to a chair before her desk. 

“I heard about the nature of this ‘inspection and maintenance’ you’ve ordered,” the man stated, a bit of animosity creeping out through his tone as he settled into the seat. “And so I know it’s really an implantation surgery. What could you gain from withholding that information from me until the last minute?” Unbeknownst to her peer, Miranda had labeled it the way that she did to prevent suspicion when the project schedule was officially updated. Exposure of her goals to the Illusive Man was the opposite of what she wanted, but her decision had apparently made some of her staff anxious. No worries, however, as she had already prepared an excuse. 

“I wasn’t intending to gain from it, Brad,” she said innocently. “It is maintenance, after all, even if we are adding redundant injectors. I’ve been worried about how well Shepard can perform once we wake her up, and making sure her implants are totally functional before the healing period would help a lot with that- even if it is just by sight.” Wilson let out a bit of a sigh though his nose, and seemed to lose a bit of his annoyed look. 

“Yeah, well, just tell me the real deal next time. And what’s this about the…conditioning serum? I’m not sure that’s really necessary, Director.” He really shouldn’t have known about that. Had he asked the Chemical Resources department, too? Regardless, she could justify it easily.

“Think about it, we have no way of knowing whether or not Shepard will cooperate when we wake her. It’s just a way to ensure there aren’t any problems, but it’s going to be more of a fallback than anything else.”

“But if she doesn’t agree with our cause, you’ll make her? That really doesn’t sit well with me, you know? Right to free thought, and all.” He was beginning to sound annoyingly like the Illusive Man- bless his heart- who was still too moralistic for his own good at times (but who, ironically, was the mastermind of an organization best known for high-profile terrorism).

“Remember, our goal here is to deliver an asset that will play to the Illusive Man’s desires. That means obedience, capability and survivability- hence the augmentations that we’ve developed for Shepard and the mood controlling drugs we’re going to give her. She’ll be everything he wanted out of this operation, you see?” Wilson looked like he was mulling it over in his head for a moment, and then gave her a slight nod.

“Okay. I don’t entirely agree with you, but I do see your point. That doesn’t mean that I like it, though- I just hope that those drugs won’t be needed in the run of things.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him, grateful that the discussion had gone the way it did. “It’s only a precaution. I hope we won’t need to medicate her in order to have her cooperation- she’s supposed to be quite the personality.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Wilson agreed, apparently mollified. “Anyway, you wanted to talk about how we’re going to run things tomorrow?”

“Yes. I assume that since you already know about the injectors, you are also aware of their placement?” The man shook his head.

“No, I only heard enough to get the gist. Are they intraarterial like the type we’re using for the Atlas meds?”

“Yes, and installation will be roughly the same. It’s nothing complicated, really, and we should be able to get everything done properly without hangups. What do you think?”

“It sounds good to me,” Wilson said, his face remaining rather impassive. “If this is the last operation we’re doing, I’m just glad to get it over with. The sooner that Shepard is alive and doing work, the better- we’ve already been waiting two years.”

“Very well,” Miranda stated, getting up from her chair. “I trust that you’ll take care in meeting the schedule tomorrow morning? It’s supposed to be a three-hour surgery with the inspection involved.” 

“I’ll make the start time, but I have no idea how long the surgery will take.” Wilson waved his hand dismissively, unintentionally (or intentionally) offending his superior. “We’ll be careful, and if it takes a little longer than expected then that’s just the way it is. This is already high-stakes work, and it pays not to be stupid.” Slight rudeness aside, the CMO was correct. She sent him on his way, and then turned back to reflect on what had gone on. 

The conversation had been a short one, which wasn’t to be complained about, and they had gotten a lot accomplished. Wilson was much more agreeable than usual, which was great, and she was happy to finally be getting things in order for the completion of the Lazarus Project. Once it was over, and Cerberus had its crusading hero firmly in its grasp, then Miranda’s job would shift to managing the great quest against the Collectors. Saying that it was going to be hard was most likely a vast understatement, but she was going to attempt positivity. She was nearly out the gate, after all, and all that would be left after the next day would be waiting for the results to come up. It would be the end to a fine project, but its coming was all too welcome in her mind. Taking this into account, she retired early to her cabin that night and slept peacefully.

 

Lazarus Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula

0830 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Saturday, August 15th, 2185

Wilson fumbled to turn off his alarm, not wanting to rise from his bed to start such a deplorable day. He hadn’t slept a wink as far as he could tell, and felt ill as he made the effort of convincing his body to move out from his covers and into his uniform. Ever since he had given a show to Miranda and learned what he needed (and in so doing, failing to find a way to make her reconsider), he had been terribly afraid of what was ahead. He had foregone dinner the previous night, unable to eat, and felt awfully jittery as he made his way out to the mess hall to force down a breakfast. He’d need his energy if he was going to be doing what was expected, and so he saw it as a good choice even if he didn’t feel able.

Immediately after arriving in the expansive compartment housing Lazarus Station’s eating area, Wilson regretted going there. Several dozen staffers were congregated there, eating, talking, and laughing. Who was he to condemn these people? It wasn’t a question that he hadn’t already asked himself many times, but nevertheless it came up again as he observed his coworkers. They hadn’t done any wrong of their own, and it was senseless to think otherwise- Illusive Man be damned. Out of this, though, he still had to acknowledge that everyone under Miranda’s command would likely be purged anyway- and Cerberus wasn’t the type of organization to lay off employees in anything other than body bags. He wasn’t exactly the executioner there, but it damn sure felt like it.

The CMO stuffed down a tasteless tray of sausage and biscuits, the bland and uninteresting meal doing little to take his mind off of what was soon to occur. He was going to have to go through the motions for the next half-hour or so in getting things organized for the surgery, and then strike when it was just about to happen. He had prepared everything already, gone over his instructions several times and verified that he had a proper plan in order. It just might work, but that didn’t make him feel any better for murdering his fellows due to the Illusive Man’s disapproval. Maybe after he was finished with his mission and got paid, he would try to find some way out that didn’t involve getting a bullet through his head. That remained only an aspiration, though, as he disposed of his trash and left the mess hall for the operation wing.

The ward that Wilson had selected for the operation was close to that floor’s elevator access point, and already had everything in it that was needed for the supposed surgery- Shepard included, as he had had her transferred in with the equipment during the previous evening. This didn’t really leave much else to do, and so he assigned the various orderlies there to check and re-check everything, clean instruments and do other make-work to keep them busy as he finalized his plans. Twenty minutes before the operation was supposed to begin, Wilson had everyone leave to “take five” before surgery prep. As the other men and women would have been using the restrooms and such, the CMO set to work.

Wilson didn’t have much time before his coworkers would be returning, and so he had to hurry. He set Shepard’s intravenous drip to wind down its barbiturate dosage in five minutes so as to allow her to come out of her artificial coma. From what he knew already, once the drugs stopped coming she’d likely emerge from it fast. The man also loosened her restraints to the point of being inconsequential, and so she’d be able to slip out of them once she woke up. Wilson had no way of knowing how she would be feeling when this happened, though, so he would have to make sure that he got back to the surgery ward with speed in order to make sure that she didn’t get herself hurt. This ideally wouldn’t happen, but as a precaution Wilson locked the door as he left using Miranda’s command authentication.

It was a bit of a trip to the networking room from the operation wing, but he managed to make good time regardless. The place was one that he was reasonably familiar with despite never having gone there before, as every now and then he passed by it on the way to other things. Living for two years on a small space station could make one familiar with just about every part of it, regardless of whether it was their business or not. Two of the ubiquitous LOKI mechs were guarding the front door to the compartment, and were the only things around for a ways due to how the IT area was generally rather empty. Both of the man-sized automatons stared straight ahead until Wilson got close, at which point they both snapped their heads toward him unnervingly.

[Miranda Lawson, Director.] One of the machines assessed, evidently accessing his falsified ID. [Clearance accepted, you may proceed.] He stepped past them and towards the door, which automatically opened as he approached. The inside of the room was dimly lit, and it was packed with consoles that interfaced with the station’s communications and data processing systems. One of them pertained to the networking hub that connected the security mechs together, and it only took a moment of searching before he found it. It was a small, dark-gray box that didn’t look much like the large server rack that he expected. Then again, it didn’t have to handle high-traffic communication like many other systems did- It was just linking around fifty some-odd mechs into a reactive network, nothing major. 

Wilson strode up to the console that was next to the hub, finding a data port that was normally supposed to be used for software updates. That was basically what he was doing, though, so he guessed it was rather fitting. The Chief Medical Officer opened one of his hip pockets, retrieving an OSD to which he had downloaded the proper files. He inserted it into the slot, and the used the holographic display that sprang up above the console to access the drive. A short while later, a command prompt appeared:

RUN PROGRAM? Y/N:

Wilson almost didn’t press the button that would start it all, but he was far beyond the point of giving up. He’d made his decision, everything had fallen together properly, and it would be his head (perhaps literally) if he gave up. It was make or break. He leaned forward, finger hovering over the key for a moment, and pressed it. 

>ENTER/Y

ACCEPTED. RUNNING PROGRAM.

At first, Wilson didn’t notice any kind of a difference. Then, the door behind him flew open and the two security mechs marched in. In a startling moment of clarity, Wilson realized that he hadn’t reset his ID and that the mechs thought that he was on the list of prohibited persons. He gasped and backed up into the console, unable to move as the machines drew their handguns and opened fire.


	3. Lazarus Rising

CHAPTER THREE: LAZARUS RISING

Lazarus Research Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula

0910 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Saturday, August 15th, 2185

Miranda sat before the computer interface in her office, doing anything but work. This was only acceptable from her standpoint considering the dearth of business that needed to be accomplished, although that wasn’t explicitly true. She did have a report to draft for the Illusive Man, which he had requested the previous evening to give him her perspective on the approaching wakeup phase. She also had to work out personnel transfers to Minuteman Station through the coming weeks, and to give last-minute instructions on the handling of Matriarch Treyana… Alright, she really did have things to do. 

Despite Miranda’s responsibilities, something was interfering with her concentration that day which was making it difficult to approach her work. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was a sort of funny anxiousness that made it hard for her to really do anything, and she found herself procrastinating heavily. Just when she was starting to get truly frustrated, a subtle ping resonated from her omni-tool.

It wasn’t an alert that she heard very often, but she did remember what it was for: It was meant to play when she used her command codes to override one system or another, from unlocking a sealed door on the station to changing the security requirements of a file. There was no reason that the alert should have gone off, given that she hadn’t done anything for it to acknowledge. No good reason, anyway. Quickly, the Director conjured her wrist-mounted display to see what had caused the sound to play, hoping that she had misremembered it as something more important than it really was. She was disappointed, however, when she found that an override notification was placed smack-dab in the middle of her screen. 

She tapped the alert to get it to go away, and then brought up a window showing her override history. The most recent one showed as being a top-level lockdown of one of the rooms on the Medical level, although she wasn’t familiar enough with all of the ordering codes to discern what its designation meant beyond that it was a surgery ward. However, it didn’t take much supposition from there to conclude that it was the only one in use that day… the one that Shepard was inside.

Miranda rushed to pull up a live recording of the area, and it took all too long to get the feed to show on her screen. The camera was mounted up in a corner across from the room, which meant that it wasn’t the finest angle on the door, but it was all she had. It showed nothing. Nobody was standing outside, and a separate camera feed from the observation area above the ward didn’t show anyone within either. Despite her fears, Shepard was still present (and a quick look at the medical readouts showed that she was healthy, too), and so this left Miranda wondering what in the world was going on. Was it a malfunction of some sort, or did somebody actually use her command codes after all? She slowly rewound the first camera’s footage a couple of minutes until she saw a flurry of activity, and then fast-forwarded back through until she saw only a lone figure in the frame.

It was Wilson, standing outside of the door that he had just gone through. He looked nervous, pulling his omni-tool up to tap a series of keys while scanning the area around him. The status indicator above the door turned to red, signifying that it was locked, and the man turned to swiftly walk out of view. How the hell had he gotten her codes, and why was he using them to lock a damn door? He almost certainly wasn’t trying to hurt Shepard- especially considering all of the work that he had put into her- and so there weren’t many options where his motives were concerned. 

Perhaps he was isolating her in preparation for some kind of sabotage, like venting the station’s atmosphere. That wouldn’t work, though, as the installation was compartmentalized in case of a hull breach. If he planned to blow a hole in it, he could be foiled by a few closed doors- he had to know that. In any event, whatever plan he had likely required Shepard to be alive, meaning that he probably wanted to transfer her elsewhere. Mercenary organizations, the Shadow Broker, the Alliance- There were many possibilities, and all of them were bad. 

Whatever the case, Wilson needed to be stopped before he could cause damage. This meant that she needed to figure out where he was headed, and get Security on him fast. The Director hurriedly opened an interface to the station’s RFID tracking system, which she admittedly used to spy on people every now and then. This time, however, it was being used to apprehend a likely traitor. She put in Wilson’s credentials, entered them, and nothing came up. He wasn’t on Lazarus Station anymore, at least as far as the systems could tell. This obviously being untrue, Miranda tried to come up with another way to find him. Suddenly, a realization struck.

If Wilson was using her credentials to access things, it was probable that he could appear as the Director to electronic tagging systems. Using this assumption, she searched up herself in the interface. Unsurprisingly, she was faced with her own location in her office compartment. What was interesting, though, is that she was notified of a duplicate entity onboard. She traced it to the station’s Networking room, which was two floors below hers and a very bad place for Wilson to be in. If the CMO’s intent was malicious- which it certainly was- then he could do a lot of harm from within there. Disable the base’s communications and data processing, maybe, leaving it unable to call for help when the traitorous operative’s employers showed up. Perhaps he could also disable the security mechs, which would cut their guard force down significantly and make boarding much easier. The Director was struck by the horrific thought of dozens of attackers rushing in through the docking bay to destroy her work, which seemed all too near to becoming true. 

She wanted to stop Wilson before he could sabotage the project, but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to get there in time. Neither would the security team, considering that they weren’t anywhere close to being mobilized yet. The best option remaining was simply tucking tail and leaving the station with Shepard. Even though this would likely get in the way of everything that they had yet to do, it was better than sticking around and seeing what would happen. In any event, many things would have to come together for this to work as she hoped. As her first step, she made a call to one of her most trusted coworkers- Security Captain Jacob Taylor.

 

Jacob was having a good day, or at least as good of one as he could have been since he woke up two hours before. The Security officers started the day early, dually a blessing and a curse of working on the station that usually resulted in tiredness and a mediocre morning. Having been in the Alliance not so many years before (where the normal wakeup time was oh-dark-thirty, or even before then), Jacob would never have thought that leaving the sack at 0700 would be anything less than a luxury- but living a more cushy, civilian life with Cerberus had a way of changing things. 

That morning had been a bit different, though, as he had slept well and had a hearty breakfast. His early workout routine had him feeling energized, and even sitting in his office and minding the station’s security network wasn’t as boring as usual. He even elected to stream in music, and all was well and dandy until something came along to utterly, unequivocally ruin his day. 

Jacob’s omni-tool buzzed angrily, startling him from his thoughts. He turned over his wrist to see the display, and noticed that the call was from the Ice Queen. Strike one for his good mood- the woman had a way of poisoning all happiness around her in recent times. The next strike came from the call’s “high-priority” marker, and the third to approximately five-hundredth from its premise. 

“Wait, what do you mean he’s gone rogue?!” Jacob demanded. “Wilson’s devoted himself to this project, why would he do anything like that?”

“I don’t know!” Miranda shot back, far from her usual calm. “All I’m sure of is that I saw him lock the door, with my codes. He shouldn’t be able to do that!” The Security Captain was uncomfortably reminded that his superior had the ability (and the inclination, as previous behavior had shown) to worm her way into his systems without his knowing. Given, this time it has resulted in the knowledge that CMO Wilson was quite possibly a traitorous bastard, but it was still a moderate breach of trust even if she was within her privileges to do so. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll run an ID check to see if I can find him.” Jacob went to pull up a menu for the system, but before he could type in the man’s credentials, the Director stopped him.

“No, I already know where he is. He’s in Networking, doing God-knows-what, and I’m afraid he’s going to make us miserable. I want you to pull Shepard out.”

“Wait, Miranda, hold on. I can get my guys on him real fast, stop him in his tracks.“ He activated the Security station’s ready-alarm, calling his men into the prep room as he got up. “There’s no reason to go and move her just because Wilson’s trying to screw us up- He obviously wants her alive, or else we’d be cleaning her up right about now. Just let me deal with him, and the Illusive Man can take care of the rest.” 

“No, Jacob, my orders stand. Send a separate team after him if you can, but priority one is Shepard. I’m going to head down there to open the lockdown, and you need to help me transport her to the docking bay. I want an armed escort for this; we can’t afford for anything to happen to her.” Fair enough. Jacob could see her side, even though he did disagree on what needed to be done. The woman might have insight into the subject that Jacob did not, however, and it was his job to listen to what she said, anyway. If nothing else, he didn’t want to find out what might happen to him if he disobeyed her to the cost of Cerberus’ most valued asset. Nothing good, to be sure. As such, he acknowledged the Director and ended the call. 

The ready room was just down the hallway from Jacob’s office, neighboring the rec area and the Security station’s bunkroom. It was already inhabited by all fifteen of the men under him, most of whom had already taken the initiative to don their body armor and secure their weapons. Any discussion died down as he entered the door, a silent question hanging in the air over the reason for the call-up.

“Guys, we’ve got a serious problem,” He said, striding forwards to take his body armor off of the rack. It wasn’t a fancy system, just a plate carrier with inbuilt kinetic barrier projectors, but it was a lifesaver if there was any chance of getting fired upon. “Chief Medical Officer Wilson has deserted his post, and from information that Miranda gave me, it looks like he’s trying to sabotage the project.” This was met with varying reactions from his subordinates, from a mixture of disbelief and apprehension from the rookies (most of his team, admittedly) to quiet acceptance from his more professional counterparts. He already knew who’d be doing what.

“Manuel,” Jacob said, turning to his most senior teammate. The man was the leader of the night shift, and was competent and resourceful- a good fit for the job he had for him. “You’re going to lead a team up to Networking and grab Wilson. Primary objective is to stop him before he can do anything, but try to take him alive if you can.” The officer gave him a nod, and immediately waved over the other members of his shift. Despite the tiredness that they all showed, Jacob knew that he could trust them to get things done. Now, he had his own problems to deal with.

“Eddie, Ty,” he said, picking out two from his own shift. “You go and prep the mechs in storage, just in case. The rest of us are going to go and secure Shepard for transit off-station. Make sure that they’re all linked, I don’t want them just standing around like last drill.” He backed up to the door, gear in order, and addressed the entire room. “Everybody understand what we’re doing here?” When he got a series of answers to the positive, he nodded in acknowledgement. “Alright. This is the real deal, people- let’s go!” 

The ready room cleared out quickly, the separate teams rushing out of the door and to their respective destinations. Jacob’s team of five (himself included) wound up in the elevator further from the station, having given up the more opportune one so that Manuel’s team could get to Wilson faster. As they filed into their own elevator car, the Security Captain flashed his ID badge in front of the reader and selected the Medical floor. The ride was simultaneously quick and altogether too long, and when the door opened again his team stepped out to see a small crowd of orderlies standing before the entrance to the operation wing.

“Hey, Captain!” One of the men from the group piped up upon seeing them. “What’s happening? We can’t get in, and Wilson’s gone. Are you here to unlock it?” Jacob had a moment of conflicting thoughts, as on one hand he wanted to give it to them straight and on the other he didn’t want to start a panic over what might be resolved soon. Considering the possibility that their problems could increase a hundredfold if whomever Wilson might be working for made a visit, honesty won over.

“Wilson’s a traitor, and he locked up the ward to isolate us from Shepard. I’m not sure what he’s planning, but we’re gonna try and get her out before things have a chance to get worse.” It was immediately obvious that the medical professionals were unprepared for that kind of revelation, judging by their flabbergasted expressions. The man who had initially asked was the first to recover, or at least the only one to talk. 

“Wait, wait, why would he-“ Jacob interrupted the orderly with a raised hand, dismissing his question.

“His motives don’t matter. What does is getting the subject out- the sooner the better.” The Security Captain strode up through the bunch (he counted six), waving them out of the way as he approached the door. He looked up at the red lock indicator, and then opted to hold his ID in front of a sensor on the doorframe. Nothing. 

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he accounted to himself, giving the door a kick for good measure. Obviously, Miranda had been right about Wilson using her codes. With that made clear, Jacob reluctantly accepted that he and his men would have to wait for the Director to show up- which, knowing where she was coming from, could take a moment. Just as the Security Captain was about to organize his team, though, he heard a staccato clicking noise from the other side of the group of civilians. Jacob was just beginning to realize what the clicking was when a hail of bullets flew into his kinetic barrier. Several of the medical staff crumpled to the floor, and Jacob instinctively dove out of the way to avoid the incoming fire. He came up behind the open doorway that he had tossed himself into, and hazarded a quick peek outside despite the bullets snapping past a short distance away. 

It was mechs. Not the kind of military-grade drones that he would be expecting from any hostile presence aboard the station, but the actual guard mechs themselves. This came across his mind in a short, curious realization- but then it was ultimately suppressed, as he was flooded with adrenaline and forgot everything other than what was most important: There were civilians in harm’s way, plus his four men. Nobody was prepared for the sudden attack, and the two machines standing just down the hallway were freely mowing the surgeons down. Jacob raised his pistol, which he had unholstered without thinking, and fired back.

The mechs’ weapons were dissimilar from his own, being all-electric mass accelerators that were nearer to carbines than to the compact chemical-propellant pistol that the Security Captain held in his hands. The mechanical rasp of the automated guards’ weapons was much quieter than the gunshots from the officers’ sidearms, and they were soon drowned out as the five men loosed their magazines into the pair of robots.

The two mechs weathered the fire rather well, if only for a moment. As soon as their ceramic torso armor had been damaged enough by the officers’ volley of tungsten-cored bullets, a few projectiles made it through and wrecked their fragile innards. One of the machines was cut down almost immediately, and then the other caught fire after someone struck its power cell. There was a brilliant flash as the battery let loose its pent-up energy, gutting the mech and sending bits of it flying in all directions as it collapsed. For the second time in under a minute, Jacob’s kinetic barrier had quite possibly saved his life.

There had been nothing to save the civilians, however. They had fallen into a pile where they had been standing, only two looking to have reacted at all. It hadn’t done them any good, though; just making the two men fall facing away from the mechs after they had tried to run for it. The rest, riddled with bullets that they’d had no idea were coming, had just ended up in a tangled heap on the floor. Already they were draining a huge, crimson puddle onto the deck, dead eyes staring out from startled expressions.

Jacob just stared back for a moment, not quite able to react to what he was seeing. All six of the men and women lying dead before him had been his charge, and he had failed to keep them safe. Given, he’d had no idea anything dangerous was happening before it was too late, but that made it even more his fault. He could have formed up his team instead of letting them stand in front of the elevator, could have moved the surgeons out of the way, something. It was done, though; it had happened and it was on his watch. Jacob forced himself to look away.

As his gaze shifted from the corpses, so did his thoughts. It’d hit him again later, though- stay with him too. That just wasn’t the kind of thing you could entirely get away from. In the present, however, he set into a hardened calm. It was decision-making time, and he was faced with several problems.

Hostiles on-base, with definite compromise of the station’s network of security mechs. That most likely left Jacob and his fifteen officers as the only defending element on the station, with the possibility of over three dozen armed mechs and an unknown number of other hostiles to contend with. His force was split, and less than half was directly present near their primary objective. This objective couldn’t be reached safely until the Director came around, but there could be any number of things holding her up. She could even be dead, leaving his team unable to get into the ward and extract Shepard without breaking something first. 

Jacob wanted to play it safe, understanding that acting without knowing could harm their ability to get Shepard out. The door almost certainly couldn’t be pried, especially with the lack of on-hand tools, and explosively breaching it (again, with supplies that his team didn’t have with them) could kill Shepard. They might be able to go in through the observation area above the wing, but then again the door was almost certainly locked on the other side as well. It’d be of no use, and so the Security Captain elected to wait for Miranda.

In the meantime, there were still things that needed to be done. Jacob knew that there were several more guard mechs on the Medical floor, and so it was likely that they would be making an appearance soon enough. The bodies of the surgeons (all dead, they’d checked) needed to be moved, and the room across from Shepard’s ward seemed as good a place as any. This’d reduce the team’s ability to respond to approaching threats, however, so only two men could work on that while the other three watched the pair of hallways leading to their position. It was a precarious place to be, and he hoped that the Director would show up before anything else did. 

Jacob noticed the faint whir of security mechs moving around down the corridor, dashing his hopes for respite. However long it took Miranda to reach him, it was likely going to be a tough time.

 

Miranda sprinted through the hallways of the Administration level, pistol in her hands as she went. She was almost out of ammunition after engaging the last pair of mechs, and she was also hurting from where they’d hit her biotic barrier. Save her life as the repulsive field might, impacts could still bruise the tissue that it came from. She pushed more energy into the barrier as she rounded the corner, only to find nothing waiting for her. From there, it’d be a straight shot to the elevator that would take her down to Medical.

The elevator door hissed shut as she entered her destination, and after the car had descended three levels it opened up to show several guns pointed at her. Luckily, they belonged to Captain Taylor’s team of security officers. The men relaxed, although still keeping a watchful eye on the corridors outside of her elevator, and Jacob motioned her across. That was when she noticed the blood.

There was a huge puddle of it just outside of the door, already darkening as it congealed. It was accompanied by a large smear running into another ward across from Shepard’s, hinting that more than a few bodies had to be disposed of there. Two of the officers were covered in blood from the waist down as well, likely having dragged the corpses themselves.

“Yours?” She asked, gesturing to the crimson stain. Jacob’s face was a stone, and his tone was flat when he answered her.

“No, they were civilians. The surgeons that Wilson had working with him.” She thought she saw his expression change for a moment, almost like he was about to bare his teeth at the traitor’s mention, but it went away as quickly as it arrived. He turned towards the door. “Mind letting us in? I think we need to get her and go.” 

Nodding, the Director stepped around the blood on the floor while holding out her ID. The reader recognized it, and because she had “officially” given the lockdown, it opened to let them in. However, something was wrong. 

Shepard wasn’t there anymore.

“Oh, God!” She exclaimed, her hands immediately flying to grip her skull. “She was just in here, where did she go?!” Her mind raced, thinking of various nightmarish possibilities. Maybe the footage of the inside of the room had been false, doctored. Perhaps the woman hadn’t been there at all, and Wilson’s deeds were just a distraction as whoever had taken her had made their escape. The how didn’t matter, though, as she was still gone. Everything she had worked for, just… gone. 

Jacob rushed past her, picking up the bundle of tubes that had been feeding Shepard air, water, food and medicine for the past few months. “This is still wet,” he said. “And warm, too. She’s been gone minutes, maybe- but my team’s been here for that long. There’s no way she could have been taken while we were out there, not without us noticing.” When Miranda didn’t say anything in response, he put down the tubes and turned around to look into the MRI across from the surgery table. There was nothing there, either.

“Jacob,” the Director started, looking towards the observation area in the ceiling. “She didn’t get taken from up above, and none of the vents are out of place either. I don’t understand, what happened to her?!” The man gave her an annoyed look, clearly not welcoming her input. She was about to berate him for letting the whole thing happen, when a quiet scuffing sound came from the other side of a bulky life support machine in the corner. Jacob walked over to it, leaning around cautiously with his gun at his side.

Miranda caught a flash of white surgery gown just in time to see her Security Captain get tackled to the ground.

 

Ten minutes earlier...

Jennifer had had an awful nightmare. A sudden, unstoppable threat, half her crew killed— She still had the image in her mind of the last moment of the dream, where everything had just disappeared in terrible white light. And the hospital room after… Already it was faint, receding like most dreams did shortly after one awoke. She could hardly remember it, but still reached out to Liara for comfort. Her arm caught on something, though, and her heavy-lidded eyes flew open. 

It hadn’t been a dream. Oh, God, it hadn’t been one at all!

Her limbs were caught up in straps that were mounted to the padded table that she was on, and she tried frantically to remove them. They were rather loose, and came off easily enough. The tubes that were in her mouth and nose were next to go, although it made her sick to pull them all out at once. Her IVs went, too, but the venous catheters stayed- just in case. She might not have felt much better physically, but after getting rid of all of the medical equipment she was much more sound of mind.

Jennifer sat up on the table, noting that she was clad only in a gown, and more closely examined the room. There was no-one about, and it was full of all manner of large devices. From an MRI machine across from the table to a rather menacing robotic surgery system pulled off to the side, it looked as if it had been set up for an operation. It definitely wasn’t the place that she remembered from her “dream,” which was made more disconcerting by the absence of surgeons. 

Shepard looked through a window that was set high into the ceiling, and saw that there wasn’t anyone there, either. Perhaps no-one was around at all, but why? Maybe she had been left alone because it was thought that she would stay asleep. Perhaps she had been in a coma. That could explain why she was in a hospital room all by her lonesome, while still hooked into life support equipment. What it didn’t explain, though, was the surgical setup.

Inspection from afar made it seem that the equipment around her was effectively spotless, no dust visible and all surfaces nicely polished. She seemed clean enough, too, in fact still possessing a pair of catheters that she was soon rid of. The waste receptacle was underneath the table, making it difficult to judge, but she supposed that it would have to be emptied out regularly. Whoever did that likely took care of her general cleanliness as well, further supporting the theory that she had been comatose. By the state of the room and the kind of equipment therein, it was possible that the hospital was prepared for emergency surgery as well. Maybe she wasn’t in good condition, still, and removing the drips and such wasn’t a good idea.

Self-concern fell by the wayside, though, as Shepard thought again of the Normandy. She had to know what had happened to her crew- to her bondmate- while she’d been out. The doctors, or at least whoever they worked for (it was most likely an Alliance hospital), would probably have some idea. 

Jennifer searched fruitlessly for a moment among the flashing and buzzing displays of the life support machines, trying to find a “call nurse for assistance” button. There was none, although it was probable that her pulling out all of the tubes and leads would make them send someone running. When that happened, she could finally get some answers. In the meantime, though, she was inclined to wait. A thudding headache (which she really hoped wasn’t a consequence from her earlier panic) had climbed its way into her skull, and she suddenly felt rather tired. Yes, waiting would be good.

Minutes passed, and still no doctors. Shepard had no idea what was holding them up, or even if they were coming at all, and she slowly began to get frustrated with sitting idly on the surgery table. The pounding in her head had dulled somewhat, making it easier to think, and she started to feel as if she had several years’ worth of pent-up energy to get rid of. It was obvious that she hadn’t moved around in a good while, at least, if her stiff limbs could attest to it, and all of the fidgeting in the world couldn’t help her desire to just get off the table and leave. Jennifer didn’t feel so ill anymore, and she figured that since nothing else had developed then she was probably okay. At least, she thought she was. The only way to really test the theory would be to move around a bit, and she really wanted to get up. It wasn’t long before she’d made her decision, and off the table she went. 

The floor was cold beneath her bare feet as Shepard slowly lowered herself to the ground, and she was stiff and tingly all over. She was still strong, though, which meant that it couldn’t have been too long since the disaster over Alchera. So she hoped, at least. When she was fully supported by her own two feet and a firm grip on the bed, she slowly let go to test her balance. She was just fine, which was a little surprising considering that she had just recently been comatose. A cautious step was followed by another, and then she steadily increased the range and complexity of her motions until she was confident that she was still functional enough. What was curious, though, was the actual state of her body.

It hadn’t taken long for Jennifer to notice just how pale her skin was. She was as white as a cave crawler doused in bleach, which couldn’t be healthy. Surely she wasn’t anemic, but there wasn’t any way that she could have been inside for long enough to lose her well-tanned complexion. At least, she didn’t want to think of the implications if that was the case. Pallor aside, though, she was still in good shape- very good shape, in fact, even better than she remembered. Despite how Alliance gene mods had made her better able to build and retain muscle mass, there really wasn’t any reason why she would have gotten stronger while she was unconscious- however long that’d been. 

Every new thing that she learned did nothing to answer her questions, only adding more to the pile as she investigated herself. Her shoulder-length brown hair was gone, shorn to mere stubble against her scalp. Her right arm no longer popped from when it had been wrenched from its socket in gravball when she was a kid. The various scars that had adorned her arms and legs (even her huge acid burn from the thresher attack on Akuze) had vanished without a trace, and her skin as a whole was spotless- not even any freckles to be found. Unnatural. Unsettling. Wrong. 

Jennifer’s thoughts were interrupted by a faint noise from outside, a fluctuating buzz that almost sounded like far-off talking. She wouldn’t have noticed it if the room hadn’t been so quiet, but the life support machines weren’t making a racket anymore and therefore didn’t obscure it. It grew for a moment, quieted, and then Shepard nearly jumped out of her skin as there was a hollow thunk from the other side of the door. It was near the bottom, almost as if someone had kicked it, and it sounded as if it had been muffled by noise reduction foam. That’d explain why she couldn’t tell what was being said, but it also masked what exactly the situation was outside the door. She shrank back, not entirely sure how to approach the problem, and waited for whoever was on the other side to come in.

A moment passed, and nothing happened. Shepard started wondering about why the person (or people) on the other side of the door couldn’t get in, and then she was distracted by yet another sound entering through the noise-muffling walls. It was something hat she could only really equate to dropping a ball bearing into a metal bucket, except repeated almost a dozen times a second. It took until a hole was punched into the wall before her that she realized what the sound was. Mass accelerator fire, full automatic, and from the sound of it it was from two or three guns. 

Jennifer immediately ducked in an effort to minimize her profile, although it didn’t seem that the gunfire was directed at her. Still, she didn’t want to become a victim of whatever was going on outside the room. She snatched a scalpel off of a large tray of medical instruments, and then found refuge behind a big, solid-looking machine sitting in the corner of the room. If anyone came in, hopefully they wouldn’t look there. If they did, depending on the situation, she might be able to surprise them. Ideally, though, that that wouldn’t have to happen. 

What sounded like the loud bangs of chemical-propellant gunshots grew into a roar outside the room, likely meaning that whoever had started up the shooting was taking return fire. It only lasted for a few seconds, and then ended rather abruptly. Someone had won the engagement, although Shepard had no way of knowing who. At that moment, she had absolutely no idea as to what was happening at all, and it was terrifying. She felt very vulnerable, alone in the ward with only a scalpel for her protection, and she didn’t know if whatever had gone on outside pertained to her or not. Considering what had occurred in her recent history, though, it probably did.

Again, nothing happened for a couple of minutes. There were muffled thumps coming from far away, as if more gunshots were ringing off somewhere else in whatever place she was in. If she listened really close, she thought that she could also hear what sounded like heavy objects being moved around on the other side of the wall in front of her. People, maybe. Bodies.

All of a sudden, there was a clicking sound as the door to the ward unlocked. It slid open with a hiss, and Jennifer heard at least two pairs of footsteps- one heavy, one light- come in. There was a gasp, feminine, and then a woman with an Australian accent shouted hysterically.

“Oh, God! She was just in here, where did she go?!” So, they were looking for her, after all. Who “they” were wasn’t clear, but Shepard didn’t want to risk looking. Maybe they were good guys, maybe not. Whoever they were, they were probably just involved in a shooting battle, and they wanted to find her. Hopefully they didn’t want to kill her, too, but that remained to be seen. In the meantime, Jennifer heard the heavier person (most likely a man, perhaps a soldier of some kind) stride over to pick something up off of the ground. It sounded like something hollow and plastic, maybe the bundle of air and feeding tubes that she’d gotten rid of.

“This is still wet, and warm too.” The man had an accent that made Shepard assume that he was African-American, and despite the stress that his counterpart exhibited, he spoke calmly and directly. “She’s been gone minutes, maybe, but my team’s been here for that long. There’s no way she could have been taken while we were there, not without us noticing.” So, he had a “team” of some sort. The soldier guess was likely accurate, although she couldn’t know who he worked for unless she put herself at risk. Jennifer still had no reason to believe that those people wouldn’t shoot her if she showed herself, and so she kept listening.

The woman talked about how Shepard apparently hadn’t been “taken” through the ceiling window, which now that she thought of it was probably for some kind of observation area for surgeries. The woman also seemed to think that Shepard could have been fit through the overhead vents, although that was doubtful. Something about how the woman was so frightened by Jennifer’s seeming absence made her wonder whether their intent was truly malicious, as it sounded like there was another party involved that was going after her specifically. She decided to hazard a look.

There was a coil of tubing on the end of the machine, with a long section of it snaking across the floor to the bit that had been in Jennifer’s throat a short while earlier. The coil was large and thick, and was probably good enough to obscure most of her head as she made to peek through the hole in the middle. She saw the back of the man (whose name was Jacob, apparently) not so far from where she crouched behind the machine, and the woman was mostly obscured by him. He had on a set of black matte BDUs of a sort that Shepard didn’t recognize, and a plate carrier was fitted to his torso. A pistol was holstered on the right side of his waist, as well. 

Even aside from the minimalist, civilian-looking grey uniform of the woman, Jennifer could determine that the two individuals almost certainly weren’t Alliance personnel. Neither of them had any immediately visible insignia, either, and so she couldn’t tell what mercenary group they were a part of (if any). This meant that either she wasn’t in Alliance custody, or the individuals were hostile. Maybe even both, if she was exceedingly unlucky. She pulled back from looking through the tube coil, settling back on her haunches. As she did so, unfortunately, one of her feet slipped against the rubberized metal floor. It made a sound, and the intruders certainly noticed. Shit. 

Jennifer tensed as she heard the man step slowly towards her hiding spot. The machine was large enough (plus having several cables and tubes hanging down from the ceiling) that she couldn’t be immediately seen, but he had to know that she was there. How he presented himself when he came into view would change the way that she would act, although she couldn’t think of any likely scenario that didn’t involve one of them attacking the other. Not enough was known in order to make a safe decision.

The first glimpse of the man that Shepard caught was of the right side of his body. His hand was at his side, but his pistol was unholstered and probably ready to fire. A quick thought concluded that that could mean he wasn’t immediately hostile, but she couldn’t take that risk. If she stayed in place, he could easily back up and execute her with impunity. In order to be cautious, she would have to remove him as a threat. If it was all a misunderstanding, that could be corrected more easily than a bullet in her skull. As the rest of the man’s body came around the edge of the life support machine, Jennifer didn’t give him a chance to react.

In a flash, she was upon him. Her left hand went for his gun, locking his wrist as she slammed into his stomach and bowled him over. They both flew back into a monitor stand, knocking it down as Shepard twisted the gun away from him. He resisted reflexively, trying to grab her with his left arm while the other was pinned, but she leveraged herself free and moved behind him. In seconds she had his right arm twisted behind his back, his left arm pinned by her legs and the scalpel at his throat. He froze, and the woman seemed nearly to faint. Everyone was silent for a tense moment, and then Jennifer spoke.

At least, she tried to. Something was wrong with her larynx that she hadn’t noticed before, and the sharp croak that came from her lips wasn’t at all like what she was trying to say. Her throat felt like someone had jammed it full of broken glass and tore it out all at once, and it only got worse as she let loose a hacking cough. It was wet and painful, but after a second or so she felt a little better. Luckily, the man before her hadn’t tried to exploit her weakness to escape. Smart of him. The woman looked like she was about to bolt, though, and so Shepard hastened to discourage her.

“Lady,” she started, speaking in a rasping growl that didn’t sound at all like her. “If you so much as move an inch, your pal Jacob here is going to find himself with a punctured artery. You don’t want that, now, do you?” To enforce her point, she pushed the scalpel harder into his neck. It didn’t break the skin, probably, but his whole body flinched in response. The woman appeared to look upon him appraisingly, as if she was weighing his life, before raising her palms in capitulation. 

“Alright, I’m not going to do anything rash. What do you want?” The woman’s expression turned into a cold stare, making her claim appear a little ambiguous. 

“I want you to take your pistol out of your holster, slowly.” The woman made a precise move towards her handgun, making Shepard worried that she was instead going to try to use the weapon against her. She didn’t, though, pulling it out by the end of the handgrip and holding it away from herself to show compliance. “Yes, now put it on the ground. Slide it over here, please.” The woman’s kick wasn’t quite hard enough to get it to her, but it was sufficient to send the pistol most of the way before it skidded to a halt. No matter, though, as there was another handgun easily within reach- as long as she could get her hands free, which was a problem.

“Okay,” the woman said. “Now I’m unarmed. I take it you want to know what’s happening?”

“Yeah, pretty much, but first I need to make sure that your friend can’t fight me.” She looked down at the man’s utility belt, which seemed to fit the loadout for a security guard or somesuch. Sure enough, there was a set of heavy metal (possibly biotics-resistant) cuffs hanging off the front of his waist. She’d either have to release his right arm to get at them or have the woman do it, but she didn’t particularly trust either option. In the end, doing it herself seemed marginally safer.

“Jacob,” she said, the man reacting minimally to her address. “I’m gonna trust you not to do anything stupid while I get your handcuffs. You keep your hands to yourself, and you won’t end up spraying blood everywhere. Got it?” He grunted in acceptance, a sound that was half bitter and half nervous. He’d probably be civil. “Alright, I’m releasing your hand, now. Don’t try anything.” Shepard quickly grasped the cuffs and pulled them from the man’s belt, opening them up with her right hand and securing one half onto Jacob’s same wrist. He got the message, and with a bit of cautious arrangement Shepard released her legs from his left arm and fastened the other cuff. He was then much easier to trust. Her scalpel stayed at his throat, though, as she recovered his handgun from the floor and pointed it at the woman. 

The woman flinched, and her left shoulder moved forward just the right way for the insignia there to be seen. Just a flash of it, of course, but it was enough for Jennifer to recognize it. An elongated white hexagon, hollow and open on the bottom while being bordered by a pair of orange sections wrapped around its sides- the logo of Cerberus.

Even though she admittedly didn’t know a huge amount about the organization, Shepard already understood enough about them to know that their involvement posed a serious problem. They were the type of entity that had shadowy institutions and secretive goals, and the specifics on them were just about unknowable from a military intelligence point of view. She’d had a fair amount of experience with them in recent history, and what she’d found out from it was awful. They weren’t the kind of group that she wanted to be dealing with- not then, not there.

“What the hell is Cerberus doing here?!” Jennifer demanded, keeping the pistol trained on the woman. “Tell me, now!”

“Nothing bad, Commander, I swear! This is my station!” Now, that didn’t make any damn sense. If she would be in anyone’s custody after Alchera, it’d be the Alliance. The Cerberus operative looked terrified; she’d probably be making up anything to save her own skin. It wasn’t very convincing, though. Shepard had half a mind to pull the trigger, but her train of thought was interrupted when an omni-tool display lit up on Jacob’s left arm. It was buzzing with an incoming call from a certain “Dpty. Miguel Ortega.” She accepted it by swiping the display, and a panting voice came over the line.

“Jacob, my team and I have cleared out most of the upper levels- we weren’t fast enough! Most of the staff are dead. Better luck on your end?” Jennifer had no idea what the man was talking about, but it was important that she hear it. She tapped Jacob’s shoulder to signal him to respond. 

“Not a whole lot,” he said. Shepard was worried that he was going to tell about her interference, but the blade against the man’s neck probably made a difference there. He might have been employed by extremists, but he wasn’t suicidal. “The medical staff down here got slaughtered, no survivors. Did you catch Wilson?”

“Sorry, what? You’re gonna have to speak up!” Jacob did his best to lean his head over while pulling his arm into microphone range. 

“I asked, did you catch Wilson?”

“No, sir, he’s dead. It looked like he fucked up; the mechs ventilated him before we got there.” Jacob’s shoulders seemed to slacken a bit. 

“Alright, that’s good. Not optimal, but good. Miguel, I want you to grab any survivors you can find and get them to the docking bay for evac. I’ll see when I can get over there with Shepard, but it might take a while- It’s a bit complicated to get her moving. Clear?” 

“Yes sir, I read you. You sure you don’t want us to meet you halfway?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. It doesn’t take so many men to push a gurney. Good luck.” With that, Jacob gestured for Shepard to close the comm. She pushed the appropriate button, and the holographic screen faded away. Then, they were back to business.

“Thank you for not doing anything troublesome,” she said, lessening the pressure of her scalpel against Jacob’s throat. The man relaxed somewhat. Then, her attention turned to the woman who was still staring down her gun barrel. “Now, if this really is your station, what the fuck is happening? I heard mechs mentioned?”

“There’s been a security breach,” the woman said, likely distorting the situation somewhat. “And someone- Wilson, as you just heard- turned our automated guard force against us. That’s why we’re here.” She motioned to herself and Jacob, as well as swinging one hand around to gesture outside the room- as if to remind Shepard of the other operatives still beyond the closed door. “We’re trying to get you off-station, to where you can be safe. As I don’t doubt you’ve inferred by now, you’re very important to us- even if you don’t trust our organization.” Damn right she didn’t trust them. For all she knew, every word coming out of the woman’s mouth could be a lie. The evidence didn’t quite fit with that, though, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to believe. 

Just how would Cerberus have gotten a hold of her after the Normandy was destroyed? The ship that had attacked them surely wasn’t human-made, which ruled out the possibility of it being them who did the shooting. The group would have had to show up on the scene after the fact, before the Alliance, and recover Shepard from vacuum fast enough for her to stay alive. If they didn’t know where to find the ship, though, how would they have done it? For that matter, why? The whole thing seemed suspicious, but the best avenue by which to get answers was most likely through the two people she was holding hostage. She decided to cooperate with them- for the meantime, at least. If she had the opportunity to escape to Alliance custody, she would take it immediately.

“Alright,” Jennifer said, moving the muzzle of her pistol away from the Cerberus operative. “I’ll work with you, if only for so long as to find out what I need to. I’m having a bit of a problem being confident you aren’t trying to fool me, though, but let’s see where this goes.” The woman kept an impassive face, but the tension that flooded out of her was plainly noticeable. 

“Good!” She said, straightening. “First thing, we need to get you to the docking bay as fast as possible. Since this station’s been compromised, you’ll be relocated to another one.” At Shepard’s skeptical look, she added: “I assure you that you’ll be very interested in what we have in mind for you. You’re with us for a good reason.” The Cerberus operative turned on her heel and headed for the door, Jacob standing up with his captor to follow. Instead of opening it, though, the woman turned around to address the person who was yet again pointing a gun at her head. “By the way, some things to know: There’s a lot of blood in the corridor, but it’s not caused by us. There were surgeons trying to get into this room when the mechs went haywire, and all of them died. So don’t get scared and shoot anyone, okay?” Ignoring the operative’s patronizing tone, Jennifer nodded.

As the door slid open, the first thing that Shepard noticed was the four men standing outside. They were clad similarly to Jacob, and all were armed. Then, she saw (and smelled) the blood that the woman had mentioned. It was all over the floor, with bootprints through and around it and a large smear leading into another room. That must have been caused along with the dragging noises she heard before. A look into one of the hallways that the men were busy watching revealed a pair of mangled humanoid robots. Both had weapons in their hands, and they were riddled with bullet holes. The Cerberus logo was displayed prominently on their chests and heads, lending further credence to the story she was being told. One of the men turned around, taking sight of the group.

“Hello, Director!” he said as he looked towards the operative in front. When his gaze shifted to Jacob- and the grim-looking woman holding a gun to his head- he froze. Similar actions came from the other men, who did double-takes upon realizing the situation. The “Director” would have none of it, though.

“Shepard might be awake, but the plan hasn’t changed. We’re going to the docking bay— Escort us there, now!” With encouragement from Jacob (who the Cerberus personnel addressed as “Captain,”), the group slowly formed itself together and crammed into an elevator just out the double-doors marking the entrance to the wing of surgery wards that had housed Jennifer. It was a short ride, and, surprisingly, no-one tried anything. Evidently, their respect for the Director’s opinion transcended the fact that someone was holding their immediate superior hostage right next to them. 

The elevator opened up to a wide corridor, which was connected to a cargo storage area on one end and the docking bay on the other. Directly across from the elevators was some kind of reception area labeled “Security,” which was totally empty. 

That was, of course, excepting the mechs.

There were half a dozen of the machines standing outside of the checkpoint, vigilant, but unarmed. Well, at least not with guns, although a mech without a firearm could still kill- especially if they were supplied with scaled-force measures like normal security drones. Thusly, it was no surprise when the machines turned on their heels and advanced on the newcomers.

They weren’t very fast, which came with it being complicated to make a bipedal robot that could balance effectively while running. Budget bruisers didn’t have that kind of tech, even after over a century of development. As such, the deliberate fast-walk that the mechs made almost looked comical. What wasn’t so funny, though, was the long, dagger-like spike that deployed from each of their left wrists. Those were meant specifically for skewering people, and that would certainly happen if they got close enough.

The mechs didn’t make it halfway across before the quartet of guards opened fire. The closest one dropped almost immediately due to a lucky shot, as if a life-sized marionette had had its strings cut. Those that remained were not so short-lived, however, and powered right through the incoming fire. Some of them fell down from hits to their leg motors, but as a whole the group advanced. Just when they were getting close enough to be dangerous, the Director lit up in a bright-blue biotic aura and lashed out at the mechs. The almost-invisible wave of force she generated threw the machines off their feet, making them easy pickings as they tried clumsily to react. It was over almost as quickly as it began, and after a moment of waiting nothing else appeared.

The group of security officers advanced from the confines of the elevator, scanning for threats before they called up their charges. Shepard, who had been in the rear, less urged than followed Jacob out- he was obviously tired of being cuffed. She still needed a hostage, though, as they made good insurance. It was a swift walk into the docking bay, which was basically a large but oddly cramped room with seating and cargo handling accommodations. A curved radiation-resistant window looked out into space, revealing a pair of large ships that were docked there. 

The couplings seemed to be Alliance Freight Standard, and the airlocks were nice and big. Both of the craft looked like civilian cargo tugs, which made them each a minimalist assemblage of propellant tanks and storage units mounted symmetrically onto a central truss. Aside from the cargo and habitat modules up front and the reactor and engines in the rear to push them along, they almost looked like miniature, less-flashy Eiffel Towers in space. Not very charming, but nondescript enough to be forgettable in a trade system. Despite their appearance, though, their affiliation with Cerberus made it likely that they were armed.

“So, we’re boarding one of those?” Shepard asked, drawing the attention of the Director. 

“Yes, at least as soon as Deputy Ortega shows up. We might have to wait, though. He could have run into trouble.” No more gunshots were echoing throughout the station, making this seem unlikely. Either the team was just fine and on their way, or they really had run into a snag and were wiped out. There was no way to know. Jacob shifted his wrists uneasily within the cuffs. Jennifer was actually considering letting him free when a sharp ding sounded from behind them. The second of the three elevators present opened up, and out came a trio of Cerberus security officers.

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” Shepard said. The three men stopped, looked towards the other group, and then beckoned out a cluster of civilians from the elevator. Their black-and-white uniforms were crumpled and smudged, some of them streaked with drying blood. They looked to be in shock, all wide-eyed and silent as the security officers led them up to the docking bay. The few that were more calm simply seemed worn and tired, as did the officers leading them. One of the guards, a Hispanic man with a strong face and notably weathered features, walked right up to Shepard. She could make out “Ortega” on his nametape as he approached, and he seemed to eye her with a mix of suspicion and awe- as if he’d always wanted to see her, but had never imagined that she would be holding a gun to his superior’s head when he did.

“Director,” he asked, “I take it you’re alright with this?”

“No, Deputy, I’m not.” The woman seemed to pick her words carefully. “But if it helps the Commander to trust us a little more, then I’ll allow it- for now.” She made a pointed look towards Jennifer, making it clear that she meant what she was saying. “However I’ll expect her to let the Captain go at some point in the near future. Does that satisfy you?” He stared a moment longer before giving a belated shrug. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I guess so. If I may, I need to go and get the rest of the staff up here. My team’s still waiting for my go-ahead.” The Director let him go, and pretty soon there were just over two dozen people in the docking bay. If that was all that was coming off the station, the amount of people that that weren’t was unsettling. Regardless, they were about to go- which meant that Jennifer could finally figure out what all was happening. Maybe she could get back to the Alliance, see if she could help to prepare for the inevitability of the Reapers. Maybe she could find Liara again. She had to do something.

Eventually, after several instances of the security officers leaving to check for survivors and coming back empty-handed, it was time to abandon the station. Cerberus command had already been contacted for a cleanup crew to be sent, but elsewhere was of greater importance. The Director still wouldn’t tell where exactly they were going, but emphasized that there would be a time for questions and answers in the future. For the moment, though, Shepard retained her hostage.

Almost half an hour of tech checks and other measures kept everyone milling about in the cargo bay (which had been sealed off to prevent any wandering mechs from causing problems, despite the fact that all had been cleared from the level). At long last, however, one of the ships had been prepared for use. After two of the passenger compartments were filled with personnel and the stations were manned (cross-training proved useful), the locks were shut and vented to vacuum. Then came the slow and delicate process of decoupling from the station and maneuvering away with light thrusters, which Shepard saw none of but could hear clearly enough as little pops that adjusted the ship’s orientation and longer pulses to provide real thrust. 

All in all, it was just sitting in a crowded, dark room with a whole bunch of possible terrorists while she floated around in a glorified tin can on a stick. In due time, however, the fun part began. Or, depending on how you looked at it, the un-fun part. Acceleration! Faster-than-light-travel! Feeling like you weigh twice as much as you should while lying on your back in an ill-adjusted chair! Fun, hell. Mercifully, though, after the count-down ended and the ship kicked itself into gear, it was a very short trip. The Director’s voice came up over the intercom.

“Personnel, we have arrived at Minuteman Station. Prepare for debriefing and medical examination after docking. Thank you for your cooperation.” Needless to say, the relief in the room was palpable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a question for all those who made it to this point: Was this chapter too long? I'd suppose you are going to say yes, but please feel free to inform me in the reviews. One thing that I would love to get arranged right now is optimum chapter length, based on what the readers want. There could perhaps be longer ones, like this one (which take longer and I feel like I am rambling at times, although the length of the writing might actually be a symptom of that), or I could try to produce in the ~7,000 word range or less. Honestly, it seems to me like the content dictates the length, and I'll have to plan multi-part plot pieces differently. Regardless, please tell me what you think in the comments.
> 
> Also, for some reason, the end note from my first chapter is displaying after this one and I cannot get it to go away. Please discount it.


	4. Minuteman

CHAPTER FOUR: MINUTEMAN

Minuteman Setting Station, Deep Space, Omega Nebula

1032 Hours Terran Coordinated Universal Time, Saturday, August 15th, 2185

After several minutes of careful maneuvering, the CSV Osiris settled into its docking cradle. At Miranda’s order, the ship’s gantry was extended to the station with the subtle hum of electric motors, and a quiet thump signaled its contact. In a moment, the corridor would be pressurized and safe for transfer of passengers. However, the rest would be more difficult. 

Surveillance video from the first passenger compartment showed Shepard’s eyes darting around as she sat strapped into her acceleration seat, as if she thought she was going to be attacked at any moment. There was no danger of that; the Cerberus personnel would never lift a finger against her (unless there were more traitors like Wilson, in which case the situation could be very bad indeed), but for the meantime the Commander was still distrustful of anyone wearing the wrong insignia. Jacob was still restrained, too, but at least he didn’t have a gun pointing at him anymore. So, there was that. Nothing was really cause for celebration, though, as Shepard still possessed a tool to get what she wanted without working with her benefactors. It was a very inconvenient situation, to say the least.

Not all was bad, though, as Miranda still had some tricks up her sleeve. Strategically revealing information to the Commander without giving too much away would likely make her more interested in what the Director had to say, and the woman’s probable anxiousness about what had happened over Alchera would make her easy to exploit. If she proved to be harder to sway than anticipated, however, there were always other options. People to bring in, surprises to show… The next step of the operation was either going to be very interesting, or very tough for all involved. The Director just hoped that things would happen on her terms, rather than those of her subject.

As such, Miranda had arranged for a small group of armed men to go into the Osiris for hostage negotiations. She would attend, of course, but it could never hurt to have an escort when it came to speaking with armed belligerents. She would first try to de-escalate and be as kind as possible (even if it was unusual for her- she could be a good actor when she wanted to be), but if Shepard wouldn’t listen there were several more direct options to choose from. Feeding in knockout gas from the ventilation ducts wasn’t beyond the scope of possibility, nor was shooting her gun hand and tranquilizing her if need be. Heaven forbid that any such drastic action be necessary, though, as that would mean that one: Shepard would be uncooperative, and therefore useless, and two: Shepard could be wounded in some manner- further delaying the recovery process. However, if anything like that happened, the Illusive Man could very well be more receptive to Miranda’s ideas on chemically conditioning the Commander to be obedient.

Provided that nothing bad happened, though, Jacob would be released for debriefing without a scratch. Then, Shepard would immediately receive a full medical examination. Miranda wanted to know everything about the woman’s physical state, beyond what could be seen externally, and so linking her cybernetics to Minuteman Station’s medical systems would need to be done. It was possible that her health had been damaged by the experience aboard Lazarus Station, which could have unknown effects upon her both physically and mentally. For all that the Director knew, Shepard could be just fine bodily, but her mind could be a mess of chemical and hormone imbalances that would make her unstable. She’d just woken up from an artificial coma, after all, which would be hard on anyone- especially when it was considered that she’d gone through it completely without medical assistance. It was entirely possible that treatment could be in order.

If all was well, though, Miranda could have Shepard through the initial examination and on to the debriefing with minimal hassle. Of course, this banked on the more optimistic possibility of the woman being mentally and bodily stable, as well as being convinced to let Jacob go. The Director wasn’t sure how likely that was to happen, but if it did, then pretty soon her recently-awakened responsibility would be speaking to the Illusive Man himself. If she believed him about the Collectors and could trust Cerberus enough to work with them, then it was in the bag. If not, then phooey. No way to know which until they tried.

Miranda checked again with the Osiris’ captain (a lucky save from Lazarus Station’s crew quarters) to ensure that the vessel was ready to start offloading, and then ordered for the “head ashore” alert to sound in the passenger cabins. Once all of the staff were cleared out, the Director Could have her meeting. Although she wasn’t about to let anyone else know, she really had her fingers crossed over it. Shepard was everything, and to fail at the most basic but critical moment of simply getting her to cooperate would be unacceptable. She had her work cut out for her, indeed.

 

The ship had been maneuvering for just over five minutes, the short, staccato pops of attitude thrusters making it obvious that the vessel’s crew was making adjustments for docking. They sure were taking their time, though, which wasn’t doing anything to help Jennifer’s nerves. After several more minutes of it, a telltale whoomph reverberated throughout the compartment. The ship had just settled into some kind of docking fixture, undoubtedly attached to the “Minuteman Station” that the Director had described. The lights brightened, and several screens on the walls started displaying an unbuckling symbol for everyone to get out of their seats. That was when things got scary.

When one is attempting to hold a hostage, proximity to said hostage is a must. The Security Captain was sitting right next to Shepard, but both of them were strapped down in acceleration chairs, making it hard for her to get up and moving and therefore difficult to regain control of him. If the people around her (many of whom had been giving her odd looks for the extent of the time they were onboard the transport) decided to attack and seize her, then would be the most opportune moment. When she was in the middle of getting out of the unfamiliar harness, her hands were occupied and therefore away from her weapon. She was immobile, and her hostage was out of reach. 

She was vulnerable. However, no-one moved against her. Instead, the Cerberus personnel slowly removed their harnesses and got up with a low buzz of conversation. Nothing particularly enthusiastic or conspicuously quiet, and they didn’t seem to be making any efforts to be unassuming either. Jennifer quickly unclipped the strap that went over the tops of her legs, undoing the groin strap that passed through a loop on its underside and hooked into the main harness. That just left the torso system, which all came apart with a press of a button on the central quick-release mechanism. She shrugged off the straps, and they withdrew to their spring-tensioned ports on the seat. 

Shepard retrieved the handgun from where she had placed it between herself and the side of the chair, holding it nonthreateningly but readily enough to react if somebody tried to make a move on her. As she made to disconnect Jacob’s harness, a man’s voice came over intercom in the ceiling.

“Passenger Compartments One and Two, you are clear to disembark. Reporting stations shall be transferred presently.” That got everyone moving towards the door, but they stopped to listen when something else was added: “Commander Shepard and Security Captain Taylor are advised to remain in their compartment for negotiations. Please stand by for the arrival of relevant personnel.” 

It didn’t take long for most of the compartment’s inhabitants to file out the wide, vacuum-sealed double door set at the end of the room. What was interesting, though, was watching them reverse something that everyone had done while going in: walking up onto a curving ramp that changed one’s orientation so much so that they were facing sideways versus the deck where they had begun. All this was possible due to the wonders of artificial gravity, and its purpose was to allow personnel entering and leaving to access a curved walkway that was set sideways into the forward wall of the ramp room. The walkway interfaced with a long hall in the ship’s spine, which led all the way down to the docking port on the nose. Simple, but efficient and rather entertaining to watch. One didn’t normally get to see other people standing on the wall as if supported by magic, regardless as to how up and down meant nothing in space.

Quickly bored with the spectacle, Jennifer turned about to set Jacob free. His cuffed hands were held in place by the interfaced leg and groin straps, preventing him from moving his arms, but that was changed once Shepard removed the rest of the harness. She helped him to get up, although never quite pointing the muzzle of her handgun far away from him. He noticed, and the two kept a tense silence as they waited for whoever was going to show up.

Truth be told, Jennifer truly hated playing the hostage game. It was a very bad way of negotiation for all sides involved, and made it very easy for someone (or multiple someones, depending) to end up dead. She was only really holding on to Jacob as an asset for her protection, as he was the only reason that Cerberus couldn’t just have its way with her. Despite all that had been said previously, what with them not having any harmful intent, once he was freed then she was powerless. Holding one of the organization’s members (a relatively important, one, too, seeing that he wasn’t expendable enough to trade for her) captive gave her the ability to learn and negotiate at an advantage as long as they were willing to yield. She was their goal, anyway, which made having Jacob at her mercy all the more important.

It was unfortunate that Jennifer had to hold the man captive, but hopefully he understood that it wasn’t personal. If Cerberus managed to come up with a deal of some sort and/or make her trust them, then he would walk free in a heartbeat. For the moment, though, he was a good tool. That made her think, though… Why was it that he hadn’t resisted so much before? He’d had an opportunity to escape, but he hadn’t taken it. Why?

The opportunity had been when she’d wrestled him into submission in the ward, from the point that she’d tackled him to when she recovered his pistol from the floor. She’d only had her scalpel at that point, and he was a biotic- the telltale implant markings at the base of his skull proved it. He could very well have pushed her off by generating an expanding barrier around himself, and he would have been pretty safe provided that Shepard didn’t get her hands on his gun. By that point, though, he could have shot her with the taser hooked to his side. So, why didn’t he do something?

It was possible that he was too surprised to act, but he should have been able to recover his senses by the time that Shepard had him pinned. Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to make it strong enough around his neck before she cut it, or maybe he thought she’d be able to dislocate his shoulder before he could push out of her hold. Maybe he just wanted to de-escalate, and Cerberus’ intent with her really wasn’t all that bad. Maybe not, and she was just misunderstanding what had been a heat-of-the-moment mistake on his part. It was impossible to know unless she asked, but… it really didn’t matter. There were a hundred other things she could learn from talking to the man, and it probably wouldn’t be long before the negotiators showed up. If she was going to be asking any questions, the most important ones had to take priority. 

“Hey, Jacob?” She said, bringing the man from his trance of numbly staring at the deck.

“Yes, Commander?” He replied, looking surprised to have been spoken to at all. Setting aside the curious fact that he had just addressed her honorifically, she continued on to the real matter.

“Your ‘Director’ mentioned that I was important to Cerberus, earlier. Why?” The man seemed to consider the question, and took a moment to answer. 

“Honestly,” he started, seeming indecisive. “I can’t tell you. The Director only wants to release information when it’s necessary, and I’m not about to go against her orders.” Shepard pointedly turned the pistol over in her hand, and Jacob swallowed nervously. “Don’t get me wrong, Commander,” he said, raising his cuffed hands to chest level in an attempt at a calming gesture. “I respect you, and I think you have a right to know. However, the Director disagrees, and if she doesn’t want me to say anything, then I won’t.”

“If you guys want me to cooperate with you so badly, then why aren’t you telling me anything?” Jennifer demanded. “It doesn’t help!” The man’s refusal to talk could become problematic, and time was still ticking. She had no way to know when the negotiators would arrive, and she remained clueless as to what was going on- besides the fact Cerberus thought she was important enough to go out of their way to get her.

“Sorry, Commander,” Jacob said. “It’s just OPSEC. You’re not really on our side right now, and unless that changes we’re not gonna let you know anything we don’t need you to. After all, you are holding me hostage. It’s easy to assume you aren’t about to openly cooperate.”

“Alright, think of it this way.” Jennifer crossed her arms and sank into a hip, making an effort to look a little less threatening. “I need to know what’s going on here, or otherwise I won’t understand whether or not Cerberus has good intentions. In that case, I wouldn’t trust you so much, and there would be less of a chance that I’d cooperate. But, if you tell me what all the fuss is about- and it doesn’t involve anything bad- then I might consider working with your friends. You understand?” The Security Captain seemed to mull it over for a second, and then looked back at her with indecision.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt, really, but still. If I say anything to you about this operation, then it’ll be my head if something goes wrong. Even if you do decide to cooperate, though, I’ll probably still get in trouble for violating procedure. Big risk my way, but…” The man trailed off, and Jennifer watched as resolve came into his expression. “You know what?” He said, seeming frank. “I still think you deserve some understanding on all this. Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Well, um, thank you.” Jennifer said, straightening. “That’s a convenient change of pace.” She looked over the Security Captain’s shoulder at a monitor on the opposite wall, and noted that three minutes had passed since the compartment had been emptied. She had to start asking questions fast- if they were on the ball, the negotiators were probably near on arriving. “Alright, I still want to know why Cerberus values me so much. Am I some kind of bargaining chip, or do y’all really expect me to work with you for some reason?”

“The latter,” Jacob answered, adopting a bit of a nervous grin. “I know it sounds crazy, like, why would you want to help out a bunch of terrorists, you know? Well, we’re not like that, really.” He must have sensed Shepard’s urge to correct him, because he quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, it’s not just Cerberus that needs your help. There’s a threat to all of humanity out there, and the Illusive Man thinks that you’re the best bet we have in fighting it.” 

“Do you mean the Reapers?” Asked the Commander, confused by the line of logic apparent in the man’s statement. “Because I can tell you that I myself am not the galaxy’s most useful asset against giant evil robots from space.”

“Well, honestly,” Jacob began, looking somewhat sheepish. “I don’t know what that ‘threat’ is. It could be the Reapers, but I haven’t heard the name mentioned. Regardless, it’s legitimate. Otherwise, Cerberus wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble it did to bring you here.” It wasn’t hard to come up with a number of reasons why the organization might find Shepard to be a good source of information when it came to the Reapers, but she still didn’t see why that should make her important enough for what she’d seen so far. Regardless, things seemed to match up with the Security Captain’s explanation rather easily. 

“How about the Normandy, though?” Jennifer asked. “Cerberus must have grabbed me out of there, so what happened to everyone else?” Jacob looked hesitant again for a second, and then answered. 

“Well, from what I heard about it, most of your crew survived. Just about everybody out of the shift working your CIC got spaced, but the ones in the other decks were okay for the most part. Whoever blew up your ship left them alone, and the Alliance picked them up later.” Provided that the man was being truthful (and Shepard had no concrete reason to believe he wasn’t), what he said dismissed some of her worst fears about the incident. 

“Okay,” Shepard said. “Good. I was worried about that.” The relief that she felt showed on her face, apparently, as Jacob responded with a slight grin- contrary to his previously nervous appearance. Perhaps he was starting to think that he was gaining her favor, and that therefore she wasn’t as distrusting of him as before. It was true. The man had served his purpose, and pleasantly surprised her in more ways than one. She just hoped that his attitude at least somewhat reflected those held by his employers. If that was the case, then things might be much easier come time for the negotiations. If not, then she would find out one way or another.

Considering such a fact, Jennifer thought it might be useful to de-escalate the situation further. The more mutual trust that could be afforded between her and Cerberus, the better- and even though she was having difficulty being confident she wasn’t going to be stabbed in the back, she wanted to believe that there was a way out of the predicament that didn’t involve anything too unpleasant. Jacob being held as a hostage likely wasn’t doing much to reduce that probability, and if anything was only postponing it. At that point, he mostly represented a possible olive branch to be used later- his release would likely help relations along, and considering what had been said already, it was quite possible that it wouldn’t be so harmful of a decision. With the prospect of whether or not to attempt keeping the man around being settled, just when to let him go remained an issue.

As it turned out, Shepard really didn’t have a choice. Just after she spoke to Jacob, the distinctive sound of boots against deck plating began to come into hearing. There were multiple sets of footsteps, and they sounded heavy- most likely a group of men, armed and armored. Display of force for the negotiations, probably. The alternatives were unsavory to consider. 

Jennifer stepped closer to her hostage as the first two figures appeared from the hallway, stepping out onto the orienting ramp in the next room and proving her to be correct. They were both male, clad in black armor and carrying rifles. Their helmet visors were mirrored, masking their faces and intent, but they kept their muzzles pointed downwards as the rest of the group exited into the passenger compartment. The next person behind them was none other than the Director herself, looking tidied up and once again possessing her own handgun. Two more escorts followed behind her, and eventually the five were lined up at the far end of the room, blocking the exit. It was time to talk.

 

Miranda looked over her subject appraisingly, noting how she still gripped Jacob’s handgun like a lifeline. She probably didn’t trust Cerberus one bit, but by the way that their conversation had seemed, she had warmed up some to the Security Captain. As displeasing as it had been, his disclosure of information on the mission had likely calmed things down a little; and if they were lucky, then Shepard was becoming more curious than she was cynical. The success of the project could very well depend on it.

“Hello, Commander,” Miranda began, stepping forward from her team. The woman regarded her warily, although the armed men behind her seemed to be more worrisome. Her gaze kept jumping between them, analyzing, as she kept her handgun pointed at Jacob’s head. He didn’t seem fazed, and quite frankly neither was the Director. She was confident that Shepard wasn’t about to hurt the man, given the circumstances. 

“I trust that you got what you needed from your chat, here?” Miranda asked, trying to feel out the Commander’s disposition. She was unreadable, but had likely expected that Cerberus would hear what was said before. Either she considered it a necessary sacrifice in the pursuit of information, or she wanted to give off a certain image to the organization. She was smart, and the Director wouldn’t put it past her to try and shape others’ perceptions to fit her goals. Jacob, on the other hand, was a bit of an open book. His demeanor and expression made it obvious that he understood his disclosure was wrong, and he was expecting to pay for it at some point. He’d get his, but at that moment the priority was separating him from Shepard. 

“It certainly helped,” the Commander said, “although I’d assume that you aren’t willing to help complete the picture for me.” Should she be? No. Jacob had already spoken enough, and Shepard was obviously interested enough to ask her despite what the man had already said. Denying the woman further information would force her to make a choice.

“Correct,” Miranda stated, nodding. “I don’t happen to share the Captain’s opinions on the free use of information, despite how much you mean to us.” 

“Very well,” the Commander remarked, her face setting into a frown as she appeared to think things over. After a moment, she took her pistol away from Jacob’s head. Its muzzle wandered forward as Shepard examined it in her palm, making the Director’s escorts shift audibly, but then it moved away as the woman dropped its magazine into her left hand. She ejected its loaded cartridge into the same palm, allowed the slide to close and then placed the empty handgun into Jacob’s holster. She slid the magazine into a pouch on the front of the Security Captain’s belt, and then gave back the taser that she had stuffed into a heat-pack pocket on her surgery gown. Last of all, the scalpel came out, and was stuffed handle-first into a portion of the accessory webbing on the man’s plate carrier. Shepard had fully disarmed herself, but didn’t yet step away from her hostage.

“Um,” she said, examining the device around Jacob’s wrists with a hint of confusion. “What’s the code for these cuffs? Are they data-linked?”

“The unit’s connected to my omni-“ the Security Captain began, but Miranda interrupted him.

“Not necessary, Commander,” she said, waving up the guards from her right. “We can take care of him, once you hand him over.” Shepard took a step away, and the man nodded respectfully to her as he strode forward to be received by his superior’s escort. The Director flashed him a cold ‘we’ll talk later’ look as he was led past her and out into the next room, and then gestured to her subject to get moving. “Come with us, now. You’re slated for a check-up next, and then we’ll debrief you afterwards.”

The woman stepped forwards with little hesitation, evidently having made up her mind, and fell in line between Miranda’s two remaining men. The group made their way into the next room and up the reorienting ramp (always a somewhat uncomfortable experience with one’s eyes open), passing through the curved corridor and into the long hall down the ship’s spine. With this came a several-degree drop in temperature, due to the flood of cool air moving into the vessel via the docking connection. With it came the natural stink that could be associated with the situation of many dozen (or hundred) people all being bottled up in the same enclosed space for an extended period of time, even despite all of the cleaning and air filtration systems aboard the station. Every spacecraft or other entity out in the great vacuum had its own unique, pungent odor (with Minuteman being no exception), and since Miranda had been in the same place for months, it was striking. Its effect would wear off with time, though, especially considering the distractions at hand.

The long walk down to the Osiris’ nose finally ended in the extended gantry, leading directly between the station and the ship. A set of articulated deck panels brought the Director and her accompaniment through to the entry lock, which opened to a large reception area servicing a cluster of Alliance-standard docking interfaces on the station’s outer hull. There were two more like it, but that one was the most opportune- And not only that, but it prevented the Commander from getting an early view of what might be one of the most important things that Cerberus had prepared for her. That was not to come then, though, as Miranda still needed many other things to be done. How convenient it was, then, that the man in charge of the physical examination was already present and waiting for her.

“Hello, Director!” Greeted a certain Cerberus physiatrist, straightening as he saw her exit the airlock. He was tall and skinny, with close-cropped brown hair and a trim goatee framing his narrow face. He was a sharp-witted and knowledgeable man, and a perfect fit for the job that Miranda had given him. As Shepard and the two guards came up alongside the Director, he grew visibly excited, and even more so when the Director prompted her subject go and meet with him. As soon as she neared and cautiously put out her hand, he shook it vigorously.

“Commander, it is very good to meet you!” He exclaimed, then sobering somewhat. “Sorry, I’m Doctor Joseph McRamie. I hope you forgive the behavior- I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity for a good while, now.” He let go, and then turned towards his superior. “Director,” he asked, “how much does she know?” 

“The Captain didn’t tell her much,” Miranda stated, “but don’t do any unnecessary talking with her before she’s debriefed, alright?”

“Sure thing,” he said. At that, the Director left her guards with them and started off to Minuteman Station’s Quantum Entanglement Communicator. Speaking with Jacob would come later, as much more important things were at hand.

 

Doctor McRamie was a bit of a strange fellow, but he seemed decent enough. Despite how his initial impression had reminded Jennifer a bit of Conrad Verner, he quickly shifted into work mode as soon as introductions were made. He waved off the Director’s guards after they had escorted the two to his lab, which was deep within the station but conveniently-placed enough so that she could still remember how to get back to the docking area. It was useful to know that sort of information, in case she ended up needing it in the future. 

The room was rather large and very well lit, and connected to a short hallway at one end that branched off to a few other rooms. An examination table- similar to the one that Jennifer had woken up on- stood in the center of the room, surrounded by medical machines. A small desk was pulled off to one side of it, and nearby a large counter/cabinet arrangement wrapped around two of the room’s walls. Doctor McRamie gestured for Shepard to sit down on the examination table, and then came up alongside it to turn on one of the machines.

“You’re not putting anything under my skin,” she warned. The doctor hesitated for a second, and then stopped what he was doing to turn towards her.

“It’s not my intent,” he said. “I’m just going to be taking readings to make sure you’re healthy. If there aren’t any problems, you’ll be free to go to the debriefing.”

“What makes you think there might be ‘problems?’” Jennifer asked, fully aware of how sickly she must have looked.

“Well,” McRamie said, “you did get blown up, recently. I’d say that there are a few health risks associated with such an event.”

“How recent was it? Just curious.”

“I’m sure you know that I can’t answer that,” he stated. “So, please, just stop asking questions before we both get frustrated.” He turned away to pull what looked like a data cord from a reel on the side of the table. “Turn your head, please,” he said. “I need to plug this in.”

“Is that going to my implant?” Shepard asked. The man nodded.

“That’s correct,” he said, leaning forward to grasp Jennifer’s forehead. She kept her head still, and felt a scraping feeling as the connector slid into the metal port at the base of her skull. Its insertion brought an unfamiliar coldness to the tissue surrounding the port, and as the cord went the last of the way in, it clicked. McRamie let go, stepping away with his hands on his hips. “And that’s it!” He said. “That’s all I need to do. No more cords, no instruments, no needles. Now, I just have to pull your vitals, ask you a few questions, and then you’re free to go.”

“Really?” Jennifer asked, confused. “Because I would have thought there’d be more to this than that.” 

“Well,” the doctor answered, adopting a humorous expression. “I could always go and look up your nose with an otoscope, or whack your knees with a hammer if you’d like.” Either the McRamie had missed the point of her question, or he had ignored it.

“No, really- How’s connecting to my implant supposed to help you get info on my health? I’d at least think a pressure cuff would be involved.” McRamie’s smile faltered.

“Oh. Well, we connected a monitor to it to tell us the state of your body at any given time. Temperature, blood pressure, oxygen content, the works.”

“You guys messed around with my implant?” She said, incredulous. “You’d better not have unplugged anything in there.”

“Commander,” he said, “I assure you it’s alright. We took our time.” Hm. She’d believe him when she saw proof, but for the moment it wasn’t worth the trouble to worry about it. If Cerberus really had screwed it up, she would find out eventually.

“Okay,” she began. “Are we ready to get started, yet? You said you wanted to look at that stuff, so let’s get going.”

“Yes, right. Let’s begin.” Doctor McRamie sat down at the desk and tapped a button on its surface, a holographic display flashing up instantaneously. He navigated through a series of screens until he reached one showing a multitude of different readouts, although Jennifer couldn’t quite tell what they were from the side. He spent a few moments reading through them, went to several other windows, back again, and then closed the display. “Everything checks out,” he said. You’re looking good. One thing, though- How are your biotics working?”

“Not too well,” she said. “When I was on that other station, I tried to pull up a barrier a few times. Couldn’t do it.”

“That’s what I thought,” McRamie said. “Your implant seemed to show your nerves as being responsive to stimulation, but if you can’t control it, then that raises some issues.” He paused, seeming to contemplate it, and she almost said something rude about his statement on Cerberus “taking their time” with her implant. He spoke again, though, interrupting the remark before it could be uttered. “No matter,” he said. “We’ll figure it out later. For now, I need you to answer some more questions for me.”

“Like what?” She asked, annoyed.

“Well, I need to see how your memory is working. You were just in a coma, and so I need to make sure it didn’t have any adverse effects beyond what I can see.”

“Fair enough,” Jennifer said, crossing her arms. “What do you want to know?”

“Are you having any trouble with your memory?” McRamie asked. “Any gaps, say, in recent time?”

“No,” she stated. “Everything from when the Normandy got hit is pretty sharp, all the way up until the end…” She paused, remembering the blinding light, the dull crack- “How did you guys get a hold of me, anyway?” Shepard asked. “What kind of state was I in?”

“I can’t tell you,” answered McRamie, dismissing her question. “Anyways, could you please think back a bit? How well can you remember early things, like your childhood?”

“About as well as you’d expect. Pretty faint, although some things stand out. Why are you asking about that?”

“Well,” he started. “Sometimes, amnesia- particularly from traumatic events and long-time sedation- can affect long-term memory without making you lose more recent experiences. Say, you might forget really important things from when you were younger, but then still be able to recite all of your financial and personal information with no problem at all.”

“I’m not having any issues,” Jennifer stated. “So, you don’t need to waste your time.” The doctor looked contemplative for a moment, and then nodded in assent.

“Alright,” McRamie said. “If you say so. I have a rather large list of questions that I was supposed to ask you, to make sure that you are still holding onto specific details, but if you’re confident that everything is sound, then we can get rid of it.”

“Really?” Shepard asked, surprised that a man in his position would so freely disobey his superiors’ expectations. Regardless, if he was able to fudge it well enough, it could be one less thing she would have to do before she could figure out what was going on with the world. “I appreciate it,” she told him, the statement being genuine.

“No problem,” the doctor replied. “It was going to take a long time to ask you everything, anyway, and to be honest I don’t care to do it. The real interesting business is going to start once you get to the debriefing, and the sooner it starts the better. Before then, though, let me get that out of you.” He came over from his desk, reached behind her head and slowly pulled out the cord. He paused for a second, looking at her shoulder, and then held up a finger in realization. “Oh!” he said. “I almost forgot- There’s a set of clothes I’m supposed to give you. Has to be warmer than that gown.” He walked quickly towards one of the cabinets attached to the wall, opened it up and pulled out a bundle of clothing. A pair of thin fabric shoes was placed on top of it, and it soon ended up in her arms. “There’s a washroom behind the second door on the left, up through the hallway. You can change in there, and once you come out I can have you escorted to meet with the Director.”

Jennifer nodded to the man, and then wordlessly got up to approach the door. The lights switched on automatically as she shut it, revealing a cramped room with the standard affair of lavatory implements. Without paying the place another glance, she quickly removed her gown. The clothing that Cerberus gave her consisted of a bland set of undergarments, with a well-fitted grey jumpsuit making up the rest. It had a Cerberus logo on the left shoulder, which Shepard found distasteful, but she couldn’t do anything about it. The shoes fit snugly, making it more obvious that they (and the rest of the clothing) were specifically sized for her. Considering their make, though, they were probably intended to be temporary.

As Jennifer stepped out the door, she spotted Doctor McRamie at his desk. He was typing out a document of some kind, presumably a report on the check-up, but halted his work when he noticed her.

“Hello, Commander!” he greeted. “I see you’re now fully clothed. How does everything fit?”

“Just fine,” she answered, shrugging. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, if I don’t,” the doctor said, “someone else will. Those have been dimensioned just for you, and so the guys that did it would probably want to know if they did it right.”

“I figured that was the case.” Shepard stated. “Anyhow, I guess that they did a good job.” The two stood a moment with little else to say, and McRamie almost went back to his computer before Jennifer asked another question: “Hey,” she said. “When am I going to that debrief? You talked about an escort a few minutes ago?”

“Oh, yes,” he recalled. “I talked to the Security station while you were busy in there, and a couple of officers are coming to get you right now. They should be here any minute.”

“Alright, good,” she said. “You got any info for me on the meeting? What does the Director want out of it?”

“I’m not at liberty to tell you, but I have to tell you should listen to everything she has to say. It’s really important that things go well in this-“ He gestured encompassingly with his hands- “time period. There are lots of things at stake, and not just for Cerberus, so please try to consider our position fairly.” Jennifer was going to ask him what he meant about ‘considering their position’ when a sharp knock sounded from the door. McRamie stood up quickly to open it, and doing so revealed a pair of station guards like those from the negotiation before.

“Well, that was pretty convenient,” Shepard remarked. The doctor smirked at the observation, nodding in agreement as she got up to approach her escort. Before she could exit the room, though, McRamie caught her shoulder. “If I’m correct, Commander,” he said, “you’ll be seeing me again soon. Wish you well.” Then, he ushered her through the door. It closed, and the guards gestured for her to start walking. They were on their way.

 

The Illusive Man’s office was dimly lit, with most of the illumination coming from the various holographic displays projected for use by the Cerberus leader. It was times like that of the present in which he liked to keep himself apart from distractions, with his business arrayed about him and free for attention. He had just recently put out one of his habitual cigarettes, an indulgence that helped him to deal with the stress associated with being one of the most important men in galactic politics, although he had refrained from taking another. Instead, his attention was focused on the holographic form of his most recent visitor.

“Director,” he said. “I can see why you’d be dissatisfied about his disclosure to Shepard, and to a point I agree with you, but- I would say that, considering the results, Operative Taylor made a good choice.” He leaned back in his sleek metal throne, inviting a response from his subordinate. 

“I concede your point, sir,” Miranda said. “Do you wish to discuss anything more, regarding the situation with the Commander?” 

“No,” he said. “I am sure that you have things under control. However, I would like to speak with you in respect to what you’re going to do following her examination by Doctor McRamie. You do think that she is in good health, yes?”

“I can’t really say for sure,” the Director stated, “but judging by her performance before now, that would seem to be the case. Despite that, though, our thoughts on the state of her biotics at least appear to be true. I never once saw her use them, which most likely means that she’ll require... therapy.” The Illusive Man frowned in similar disappointment, and then drew a cigarette from a holder in the arm of his chair. He lit it in an electrical igniter, taking in a long drag, and then exhaled the sweet fumes slowly through his mouth.

“Indeed?” He said, finally. “So, we are forced to continue with our plan with the Matriarch. I will send her to you once my security fleet determines the relay is safe, and then you can begin the therapy schedule that was prepared for this occasion.” He typed a short message into one of his displays, sent it, and then closed the window. “Director,” he said, leaning forward. “I need to know if you can get this done with what you have. I’m confident that the Matriarch will be a valuable addition to your assets, but you lost a lot of useful people today. Can you still meet the timeline that I set for you?” The woman looked down at floor for a moment, thinking, and then looked up again with greater resolve. 

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Most of the people on Lazarus Station were only for Phase Two, anyway. What we have on Minuteman, plus the Matriarch, should allow us to meet the deadline in a satisfactory manner. That is, provided that Shepard remains cooperative.”

“I’m sure she will,” the Illusive Man stated. Leaning back in his throne, he took another long drag from his cigarette. “Thank you for the update,” he said. “I know that we haven’t spoken for long, but I do think I’ve learned enough. Do what you need to, and make sure that Shepard is in good frame of mind for our talk. I’ll keep you updated on what is found at Lazarus, and I expect you to do the same for your own business. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding.

“Good. I’ll contact you later, Director. Best of luck.” He cut the feed, and Miranda’s form vanished from the holopad. The room was suddenly much darker, and in turn he adjusted the light bars in the ceiling until it was again dimly lit. For a moment, he sat motionless, deliberating. Then, drawing out a short huff of a sigh, he returned to his prior business.

Freedom’s Progress was a quiet upstart colony in the Terminus Systems, far from any other planetary settlements under Alliance jurisdiction. Like most other colonies, it served as a population base for the nearby industrial sector, which in its case mainly included extracting Element Zero and rare earth metals from the asteroid belt orbiting its star. Aside from a small company that was developing and testing new atmospheric laser systems on its surface, the mining operations were essentially the only economic value that the colony had. Although, at that point, it didn’t have any. It was dead.

Cerberus had known for some time why little prospecting settlements out in the Traverse were disappearing; why humans were becoming scarce all throughout the Terminus Systems, and even on the edge of Alliance space. It wasn’t explicitly because of the Batarians, even though their slave trade had grown significantly in the past year or so. There were too many stations going dark; ships going missing, for it to be because of them. The evidence wasn’t there, either- When Alliance fast reaction teams would arrive on the scene (which could often take days or weeks, or even never happen, depending on where it was), there would be nothing there; no-one around and not a sign of violence. Batarians always blew something up when they arrived, to show that they meant business, but whoever was abducting the settlements did so without a single scrap of evidence pointing towards a direct struggle. 

It had been only about a year since New Agnes, a small research base of a colony that was situated on the very fringe of human space, had vanished in much the same way as the others. When Cerberus teams had arrived (well before the Alliance, as they had been waiting for such a thing to happen), they found nothing but a massive drive crater outside the settlement, along with an unsurprising lack of colonists. Similarly to everywhere else, all electronics within the area had been disabled by what could only be assumed to be directed electromagnetic radiation, and every computer or other record-holding device was destroyed. What was initially deemed a fruitless search did come up with something of great value, though: A stargazing camera, set far outside the colony and thrown nearly a kilometer by the drive blast of whatever vessel had landed there. The files stored on it revealed something incredible, if not more than a little unnerving. 

Shortly before the landing event occurred, the device had lost contact with the server to which it was sending its information. Therefore, it stopped sending and instead began recording on its own disk space. Such a thing was likely why it wasn’t detected by the craft that abducted the colony, which was seen occluding a star for a few frames some minutes before the camera was tossed from its position. The data was immensely helpful to Cerberus, who immediately began dissecting all of the information that they could gather from the footage. The ship’s velocity was calculated from the brief glimpse of it versus the night sky, and from there the dimensions of the vessel could be estimated as it passed over the image of the star. The results were terribly unsettling, though.

Whatever the ship had been, it was absolutely massive. Such a thing had been obvious from the crater it made in its landing site, but with enough mass alteration the drive requirements for any vessel could be lowered significantly enough to be deceptive. The problem was that, from the looks of it, the ship had to be almost two kilometers long. That was far greater than any vessel that had ever been created by the known species of the galaxy, who were in no way advanced enough to make something that was estimated to mass in the millions of tons. 

Reapers were the first guess, obviously, but it didn’t match their profile. Regardless of the strong possibility that Sovereign’s design was not representative of every one of its brethren, the uneven silhouette of the craft was so far from that of what was presumably a normal Reaper that other possibilities had to be considered. Perhaps the ship was something of entirely new origin, or perhaps not. Neither option was very encouraging. A breakthrough occurred, though, when the vessel was compared to the one that the Normandy had been attacked by more than a year previously. The imagery, which Cerberus was able to snag directly from the Alliance due to its influence within the organization’s intelligence community, provided a close to exact match. Provided that there was no great error with the investigation’s results, the ship implicated in the vanishing of New Agnes was also the one that had killed Commander Shepard. 

The fact that the mystery vessel was able to intercept the most advanced warship in the Alliance Navy, all while on a mission known to almost no-one, held the implication of it possessing both insider information and highly advanced sensor technology. Coupled with its extreme size and previous actions (linked with a possible Reaper vendetta against Shepard and humans in general), the information surrounding it made its affiliation almost assured. Thusly, it was exactly the thing that Cerberus needed to look at in order to study the Reapers’ position within galactic affairs. When this was realized, it wasn’t long before a new initiative was put forward to track and possibly corner the vessel- Project Witness.

Project Witness was a straightforward expansion of the system that Cerberus had already been using to track and respond to disappearances, with the addition of just over a dozen locations to the reaction fleet watch list- locations with very special considerations involved. It had been proposed before, by one of the Illusive Man’s best think tanks on the issue, that the (possibly) Reaper-aligned entity responsible for the disappearances had done its deeds in a more deceptive manner than had been previously thought. An idea had come up that it could be hacking into the FTL communications buoys linking the various targets to the Extranet in order to provide a steady flow of fake information to keep its attacks secret until it was already finished with its work. With the Reapers being conjectured to be fantastically advanced artificial intelligences, the possibility of such a thing being done did not seem so doubtful. Thusly, Project Witness included measures to try to counteract such possibilities.

Through a series of rigged maintenance missions on comm buoys situated at designated colonies in the Traverse, fourteen different locations were set up for monitoring. The system was simple: A set of autonomous emitters on the planet’s surface or station’s exterior would periodically fire off a repeating signal in the direction of the nearest comm buoy, indicating that they were still functional. A receiver on the buoy would interpret continued signals as a positive response, and would sit quietly unto itself until something changed. If it stopped receiving signals (meaning that the colony or habitat’s electronics had been shut down by the mysterious craft), then it would follow what it had been programmed to do in the case of a negative response: Explode.

The sudden lack of any information going through an Extranet uplink in any of the designated locations would signal the Cerberus reaction forces to scramble into action, moving from the watch stations that Cerberus had set up under the guise of freelance mining operations in order to attempt confrontation with the colony-abducting ship. For several months, this strategy did not yield any results. That was not because of Cerberus failing to arrive on the scene in time; rather, it was due to there being no scenes to arrive on. No attacks took place through the later half of 2184, nor in the first part of 2185, and it began to be thought that perhaps the Reapers had caught wind that Cerberus was on to them. That, or they could have shifted their focus towards something other than abducting humans. It wasn’t but a few weeks before the reaction fleets were to be withdrawn that something changed.

On June the 12th of 2185, the planetary colony of Neil’s Dream was utterly annihilated. The first Cerberus vessels to the connecting relay caught a ship as it was leaving the scene- a Batarian frigate, named the Malakhar. It had just bombed the colony with several fusion warheads, which was discovered after the Alliance found and boarded its half-melted wreckage. Aside from it being concluded that it had been targeted by high intensity laser fire, its destroyers were never known and Cerberus was able to fade into the background without notice. Another event occurred ten days later, again perpetrated by Batarians as a massive slave grab was launched on a string of metallic asteroid mining stations near the human colony of Sirona. No alien vessels escaped the Alliance guard force stationed there, but the two events did succeed in what was theorized to be a shared goal between the Reapers and at least some of the Batarians- distracting the entire galaxy from what was really happening in the Traverse, and setting the stage for the problem that the Illusive Man was currently dealing with.

While the Alliance was busy bolstering the defenses of its major colonies and placing watch stations at key relay junctures, the mystery craft struck again. Not but three days before Shepard was awakened, it blacked out the infrastructure of Freedom’s Progress. The colony was the second of those equipped through Project Witness to be attacked, and the system operated precisely as intended. Cerberus reaction ships were able to access the joining mass relay and jump to the system as the ship was still present at the colony, but as they arrived they saw nothing more than a distant afterimage as the vessel escaped via FTL. What was important, though, was the state of the colony. 

The ship had left in a great hurry, and many things remained unfinished. While it had shut down and destroyed a great deal of devices in the colony, EMP-hardened starport electronics were still mostly intact, and the settlement’s primary networking hardware was still operable. Whereas such things were either wiped clean by viruses or simply removed in prior incidents, Freedom’s Progress still retained most of its information technology. In the way of colonists to use said technology, however, it was lacking. Every single human was gone, just as before, and most of the dogs, cats and other animals were simply left dead where they lay. The job was not complete, though, as personnel who touched down there found some former pets and livestock roaming the empty streets. By far the greatest discovery, though, lay within the workshop that serviced the starport’s laser launching array. 

Previously unknown to Cerberus, there appeared to have been a Quarian living on Freedom’s Progress. By what documentation that existed on him, it could be known that he was a lead engineer in the area of the colony’s laser ablative propulsion capabilities, as well as being employed at the Halcyon Optical laboratory a short distance outside of the main settlement. He wasn’t recorded as a naturalized citizen, though, which made it likely that he was only there on his Pilgrimage and wasn’t intending to stay permanently. Therefore, he was probably a young adult, although the Cerberus personnel who found him lacked the proper xenobiological knowledge to verify it and his omni-tool records couldn’t be accessed to find out. What mattered, though, was not the reason for his being there. What mattered was what had happened to him because of it.

The Quarian was but a corpse, curled up on the floor of the workshop and riddled with small holes in his environment suit. All of the workshop shutters were closed and locked (and one of the building’s doors even showed signs of attempted forced entry), so it was apparent that nothing large had made it inside to harm him. So, what was it that had caused his death? The answer came when his suit was cut off of him, revealing a greatly discolored complexion. It wasn’t even due to his being dead, to the best of the examiners’ understanding, but it had been a part of the cause of it. The best judgment that could be made without performing an autopsy involved the tiny holes covering his suit, which seemed to penetrate his skin in many areas. It was thought that the punctures either let in material that caused a fatal allergic reaction (as Quarians were so known for), or the puncture wounds were themselves injection sites of some kind. Whatever was or wasn’t injected could not be determined without a more in-depth study, and so the Cerberus personnel put the body on ice, collected all of the apparent belongings associated with it, and prepared to leave the colony. Only about a dozen hours before Lazarus station was evacuated, though, a ship dropped out of FTL near the planet.

The vessel was Quarian, a ramshackle arrangement of old hulls and parts, bolted together over the years to make a pragmatic arrangement for something of a general-purpose utility ship. It had with it a single interface shuttle for orbital transfer, and seemed to possess no sort of armament. It was intercepted by Cerberus vessels while on its way into orbit, and with the ships pretending to be affiliated with the now-absent extraplanetary mining installations, a rendezvous was made. The vessel was boarded and seized, resulting in the wounding of one of the eight Quarians aboard, but the other seven were uninjured. All were detained for interrogation, which produced very interesting results.

It was revealed that the Quarians had been going to Freedom’s Progress in order to fetch the dead one that had been found there, having apparently received a request for pickup from him several days before the colony was attacked. Who responded, though, was very important. The head of the voyage was none other than Tali’Zorah vas Neema nar Rayya, who had previously worked alongside Commander Shepard and had extensive knowledge of her former circle of friends and acquaintances. Thusly, the Illusive Man had stumbled upon many greatly important things in the span of a few days- Extensive evidence documenting the arrival, presence and escape of the craft that had previously been implicated in the colony abductions, a slain Quarian that had been apparently murdered by the craft or entities associate with it, and a person who was not only a good source of information but was also a potentially valuable tool for gaining Shepard’s trust. It was not an opportunity to pass up, no matter how much the Quarian despised her captors.

A deal was struck with the Quarians, in order for them to be set free. They provided software for accessing the dead one’s omni-tool information, left their captain, and in return the seven others were able to go without issue. The Illusive Man had arranged for Tali to be securely transferred to Minuteman Station, but the trip could take days and the ship did not have the proper means by which to attend to her sanitary needs. The resources would be present at the end destination, but it was still likely that she would be very unhappy with the experience regardless. It just had to be hoped that the story that she would tell Shepard would not cause problems once the two met.

On the subject of the Commander, the Illusive Man was dually apprehensive and optimistic. While things aboard Lazarus Station had worked out differently than intended, the outcome was still satisfactory for the most part. Miranda was no longer in a position to follow through with her plan in regards to the mental conditioning, which certainly helped matters, but Shepard herself was a bit of an unknown. It had been a stressful way to be brought back into the world, and she was no doubt suspicious of her benefactors after learning who they were. The Illusive Man was confident, though, that she could be convinced to work with them easily enough. The issue with the colony abductions was too great to ignore, and Shepard would have to see that Cerberus was the best option by which to deal with it. Nevertheless, she would have to be approached carefully on the subject- especially considering that learning of everything that had happened concerning her death and the time after would affect her strongly.

That was one reason why having good friends around her would help matters; why a certain pair of individuals were attained specifically for her benefit, and why a multitude of other decisions had been made in order to ease her re-adjustment to the world and promote a healthy perspective of Cerberus. Those things were all later to come, though, as nothing could be done without a proper introduction. No small amount of value rode upon the outcome of Miranda’s initial briefing to the Commander, as well as the Illusive Man’s own follow-up talk. Perspectives were to be fostered and changed, and if it was all engineered right, it would come out to their benefit.

 

The room was a big one, seemingly intended as a meeting area for Cerberus leadership, but it was only occupied by a few people- those people being the Director, Shepard and the guards that had brought her there. The latter two were standing on either side of the one doorway to the area, silent, as the former pair occupied a small table that had been placed near the room’s center. It seemed a show of trust that the Director was audacious enough to sit directly across from the woman who had been pointing a gun at her compatriot’s head not so long before, but Cerberus appeared to intensely value her cooperation. It was likely that they had deemed that such a move offered a chance of making her more comfortable with them, and so the Director had taken the risk.

“Commander,” the woman said, looking up from the datapad that she’d been handling for a spare moment. “I think I’d like to start with an introduction. My name is Miranda Lawson; I’m in charge of Cerberus’ Lazarus Cell.” She offered up her hand, which Shepard shook begrudgingly, and then sat back in her chair. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m looking forward to being able to work together in the future.”

“You’re assuming,” Jennifer started, “that I’ll be interested in whatever it is that you have for me. I heard Reapers mentioned?”

“Yes,” Miranda confirmed, leaning forward. “Although, to be honest, I would like to speak with you about that later. The more pressing business concerns you alone. Are you familiar with the Biblical story of Lazarus?”

“Of course,” Jennifer said. “He was raised from the dead by Christ, in the book of John. Why do you ask?”

“Because it’s central to something you need to understand,” Miranda emphasized. “What is your last memory before you woke up, today?”

“Well, to be honest, I think I remember coming to at some point before then; and then you guys put me back to sleep. Did that happen?” the Director seemed surprised by the statement.

“Yes. Yes, it did. I’m talking about before then, though- What happened on the Normandy?”

“The ship exploded,” Shepard stated, “and I was on it. What are you trying to tell me?” There was a long pause, almost as if Miranda was expecting her to answer her own question. She had already been making conclusions that she didn’t like, though, and as the woman across from her leaned closer, she began to dread an answer.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” the Director said, adopting a somber expression. “But I’m saying that those things are connected. You died on the Normandy; pronounced KIA as of July the 15th, 2183- Murdered by an unknown enemy. Full ceremonies held on the 20th, encompassing yourself and twenty-two other men and women from the Normandy. Again, I’m sorry to tell you.” 

Frankly, there was no small amount of expectation involved in what Miranda had said. Jennifer had suspected such a thing might have been possible ever since she had woken up in the hospital room, having been unable to think of a way she could have gotten out of the Normandy alive. The explosion had been far too bright; far too close for anything else to have happened. Metal plates targeted by anti-ship lasers (especially of the sort that had drilled straight through the Normandy’s outer hull) less melted than detonated, and a rapidly-expanding cloud of white-hot metal vapor wasn’t a terribly healthy thing to be in the way of. Still, suspicion and confirmation were two entirely different things. The apparent fact of her own death was hard for Jennifer to process. Harder still to apply to reality.

“Look, Commander,” Miranda started, reacting to Shepard’s prolonged silence and appearing genuinely sympathetic. “I understand how you may be having a hard time dealing with this- With believing me. I can prove it to you, though- That everything I’ve said is true.”

“No,” Jennifer said, shaking herself from her thoughts. “I believe you, it… It adds up. Proof would be good, though; so I can know for sure.”

“Fair enough,” the Director concurred, if seeming a bit worried. “I have to say, though, that some of my best evidence involves pictures of your own dead body. Are you prepared to see something like that, and walk out of here in a good frame of mind?” Shepard gave the woman as certain of a nod as she could muster, and, apparently oblivious to the artificiality of the gesture, she got up from her chair to approach a holoprojector that sat adjacent to the table. She activated it, scrolled through a menu on her omni-tool, and then selected something on the screen. A notification popped up on the projector, asking to display a classified image, and Miranda turned towards her.

“Here we are,” Miranda said. “If you just want me to talk about it, and leave these sorts of things to your imagination, this is your chance to say something.” Despite the doubt that Jennifer held in her mind about the circumstances, she felt insulted.

“Don’t handle me with kid gloves, Miranda,” she said. “I can deal with anything on that holo.”

“Right, I’m sorry.” The woman turned to the projector and hit the okay button floating in the middle of its display. Immediately, an image flashed up upon it.

The picture was taken from above, of a corpse lying on its back on a large, clean surface. The body was human in shape, but otherwise was damaged nearly beyond recognition. The charred and melted remains of what seemed to have been synthetic fabrics were fused into the flesh, but were mostly cut away to reveal the blackened skin beneath. The stomach was sunken, and what seemed to have been breasts were only shriveled lumps. The arms, as well, were twisted and broken, and although the legs were mainly out of the frame, Jennifer presumed they were, too. The face was but a burnt remnant, the lips drawn back from browned teeth to create the effect of a ghoulish smile. The profile of the head, though, was unmistakably hers.

“God… damn.” Shepard uttered. Despite her expectations, seeing the image was sickening in a manner that she couldn’t have imagined before, nor fully articulate- even to herself. It was as if she was looking upon something that belonged in a psych thriller, or some kind of demented nightmare. Could she really, really have died? The Director’s calm, assuring nod said so. 

The frame transitioned to another, this time showing the body lying on its front with the back towards the camera. This new surface was in remarkably better condition, with the skin mostly intact but bloodlessly pale. Heat damage was still noticeable around the sides, but no material was left there and there wasn’t any other observable damage. With the head resting nose-down, though, the upper and lower portions of the neck canted strangely inwards. Another slide showed pieces of what looked like the red-striped white vacuum suit that Shepard had worn on the Normandy, looking like it had been melted, burnt and totally fucking sandblasted with shrapnel, all at once. The visor was cracked and cloudy, and the more opaque portions of the helmet it was attached to were scorched and deformed towards the front. The chest was another story, being so melted and tattered that it couldn’t even be arranged properly and was just piled together for the photo that captured it. One of the legs of the suit appeared to nearly have been ripped off, and everything around it was stained a deep red-brown. 

Miranda showed and talked about many more pictures, some of them repeats of the previous three, showing analyses of the different points of damage, and others displaying these analyses in a more simplistic manner. There was also a complete list of bodily injuries- severe third-degree burns on most of the front of the body, pulverized lungs and abdominal organs, ruptured blood vessels, cranial trauma, severed spinal column- just to name a few. It became, though, that Shepard wasn’t even paying attention anymore. It had gone far beyond her simple skepticism; far beyond her ability to see what she did and deny that it could match up with what really must have happened. Miranda had almost certainly been telling the truth, and Jennifer didn’t need more pictures of her own blackened, twisted face to be convinced of that. She had died. What was next?

“How did I get here?” She asked, interrupting the Director’s explanation of how her helmet visor had caught almost a gram’s worth of flying metal without shattering. The woman stopped, seeming confused, and then turned off the holoprojector to sit down at the table again.

“What do you mean?” Miranda asked. It took a moment for Shepard to answer.

“You’ve pretty much proved to me that I died out there, and things like that aren’t easily changed. How’d you bring me back?” The woman smiled pleasantly, although it seemed more of a reflex of satisfaction than of friendliness.

“That,” she said, “is where the Lazarus connection comes in. My cell was created solely to bring you back to life, Commander. You’re here because of us.”

“Alright,” Shepard said. “That’s great. I don’t care. Like, I’m thankful and all, but I hope you understand that I’d rather about the how than the who when it comes to my reanimation.” It took a moment for the Director to shake the look of offense from her face, but when she did, she went back to the point of the matter.

“Well,” Miranda started, “We didn’t actually have you until you’d been dead for over a week. The Alliance had your corpse on ice shortly after they recovered it from the Normandy, but the return trip took over a day on its own once it left the system. When it got back to port, you were shipped to the Red Cross Civic Hospital on Mindoir, where they were going to try and salvage the organs you listed in your SAPDR application. They decided, though, that your body was too damaged for donations and were going to have it cremated. It didn’t happen, though, and we ended up as the final holder.” 

“How did you fix me, though?” Shepard asked. “It seems absurd to me; the notion that you could bring a corpse back to life. I know that resuscitation is generally possible on people who have only been ‘dead’ a few minutes, but if I’d been dead for a week, then I don’t understand how that could happen. And that’s not even bringing in the extent of the damage you showed me.” Miranda leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands together as she spoke.

“We had the best people for the job,” she said, “and the best technology available. The very cutting edge of medical science went into reconstructing your body, practically from the ground up. We used tissue samples to clone virtually everything, from your skeleton to your eyes, although most of your brain is original. We had to replace some of the brain stem to allow communication with the rest of the body, but everything that controls thoughts and emotions- everything that makes you, you, is still there. Even though your body may be entirely different, now, you’re still essentially the same person.”

“Okay,” Shepard started, incredulous. “So, let me get this straight- You Frankensteined a body together out of my own cloned organs, slapped in the brain from my previously dead corpse, and then somehow brought me back to life? That’s seriously fucked up.” 

“We did what we had to do,” the Director stated, beginning to adopt a nearly disappointed expression. “If we didn’t, you’d still be dead, and you wouldn’t have a chance to continue existing in the world. Would you rather have that?” 

“No, fuck no!” Jennifer denied. “It’s just… It’s just…weird, you know? To be hearing about all this. I’m sure it’s true, but it’s just fucking ridiculous all the same.” The Director gave a short sigh, shaking her head at the predicament. She muttered something under her breath, but Shepard was able to read her lips well enough to make some of it out. “What’s that?” She asked. “We haven’t even gotten to the what?” Miranda flinched as if she’d been struck, making it apparent that Shepard’s interpretation had been accurate.

“We…” She started, seeming not to want to continue speaking. “We haven’t even gotten to the kicker, yet. That’s what I was saying.”

“What’s the ‘kicker?’ What are you talking about?” Miranda pursed her lips, deliberated for a moment, and then replied.

“By ‘the kicker,’ I mean ‘the most important part.”

“Well, yeah, I know that expression. What is it, though? Will you tell me?”

“Honestly, Commander,” Miranda said, sighing once more. “You seem to be getting very stressed already, and so I don’t want to risk damaging relations by giving you more shocking information. There’s a lot of things you don’t know at this point, and so I think I’d like to go slower with it so that you’re not exposed to too much at once.”

“Oh, come on! Cut the shit. I might not like what you have to say, but it beats being told nothing at all. I can say right now that your best option is just to let me know whatever it is you’re sitting on.”

“Okay, okay,” the Director capitulated. “But have to say I warned you.” There was a long, drawn-out pause, causing Jennifer to wonder exactly what could merit so much bellyaching from the Cerberus official, and then she got an answer. “It’s been two years,” she said.

 

Two years. Two, whole years? God! Even after seeing photographs of her corpse and confronting her own mortality, the Director saying that Jennifer had been dead for so long was like being hit in the face with a ton of bricks. It was disturbing; disorienting. Terrifying. Immediately, she thought of what could have happened in so much time. Everyone she knew could have been reassigned, left the Alliance, or otherwise vanished. Joker, Chakwas, Tali, Wrex, Garrus… Liara. Gone? She sure as Hell hoped not. Maybe she could get into contact with some of them again, but lots of things could have changed in so long. What would have happened to… everything while she was gone? Could the Reapers have found another way into the galaxy? Was that why Cerberus had resurrected her- To fight them? She was only one person; what could she do?

All of the thoughts and fears brought on by the Director’s latest revelation coalesced in Jennifer’s mind as an overall feeling of despair. From all that she knew (which was little), all of her assertions on the state of galactic affairs (and those of her own, past, social circle) seemed entirely valid. How could anything have possibly gone differently? Assuming that her friends were still alive (which was optimistically possible, considering how their deaths had not been mentioned before), they likely would have scattered to the winds after an event such as the Normandy’s destruction. They were only temporary Alliance contractors in the first place, and Tali had already left by that time. Jennifer could see no real reason why everyone would have kept in touch- let alone for two years. 

What about Liara? How would the destruction have affected her? More importantly, how would she have been affected by her bondmate’s demise? The very concept of losing Liara was viscerally appalling to Jennifer, so she could only imagine how the soft-hearted woman would have taken such a loss. The asari’s mother had died only around two months before, so such things happening practically back-to-back could very well stand to have torn her apart emotionally. She had to find her.

Before she knew it, Shepard had stood up, almost knocking over her chair in her haste. She gripped her bare-scalped head with her hands as she turned around, noticing the guards stepping away from the wall. They seemed uncertain of what to do, and Miranda came around the table to get her attention.

“Commander!” She said, raising her hands soothingly. “Please, calm down! I know, it’s scary- It’s been a long time, and things have changed, but there’s nothing you can do about it right now.”

“God damn it!” Jennifer shouted. “Then when can I? All kinds of shit could’ve happened when I was gone! I have to figure it out!” As she was looking at the Director, she heard the guards extend their batons- probably shock prodders. She really didn’t want to get jabbed with one of those, but the very fact that they were coming out probably meant that she was causing enough of a scene to further jeopardize her already-shaky relationship with Cerberus. Even being enormously pissed off, she could still see that.

“You need to calm down,” Miranda insisted. “What’s happened is in the past, and nothing can be done to change it at this point. You really don’t need to be going anywhere, or doing anything brash, alright?” Even though the Director’s words did nothing to help Shepard’s concerns, it did put things in perspective. If she was going to find anything out about what had happened and (if it was possible) try to fix things, it would be through Cerberus. There was no use in trying for immediate action- It would pay to be patient and methodical.

“Okay,” Jennifer said. “Okay.” She slowly sat back down in her chair, and Miranda did the same. Things started to wind down a bit, and the guards collapsed their batons, but even without looking she could tell that they remained standing off from the wall a ways. The episode had apparently affected the Director as well, as she looked upon Shepard with a much more calculating gaze than before. Eventually, she broke the long silence.

“Alright,” the woman said. “Here’s what I’m going to do with you. I had planned for you to meet with someone else following this briefing, de-briefing, what-have-you, in order to discuss affairs. Since this has not exactly gone according to plan, I am going to cancel that meeting and leave you for some time alone. How does that sound?”

“I’m fine,” Jennifer assured, starting to get worried. “I’m not gonna freak out again, I promise. I was just…startled, is all.”

“I believe you,” she said. “However, I think that what happened, as well as what is going to be done about it, needs to be discussed with those with more authority than I. For now, you yourself seem to need some time to think and clear your mind, and so I’m going to give you a room and some materials you can look over.”

“Okay,” Jennifer said, resigning herself to the events to come. “I need some food, though. Could I have some of that?” Miranda paused as she tapped quickly on her datapad.

“Absolutely. Is there anything else that you want to bring to my attention before we part ways?”

“Could I have a functioning Extranet connection?”

“I’m sorry, but no. Well, at least not one that isn’t heavily monitored. I know you might want to talk to other people and find your friends, but we’ve already been working on that for some time now. I promise we’ll tell you everything we know soon enough.” Even though that wasn’t quite what she wanted, the remark gave Shepard some relief. At least there may be a possibility of clearing things up in the future, which was better than how it was looking only a short time before.

“Okay. Thanks, I guess. That’ll be all.” The Director gave her a nod, got up, and then wordlessly gestured for the guards to approach Jennifer. After she left her own seat, they took her behind their superior and into the hallway, where more of them waited. In turn, she was escorted through a series of hallways to what looked like the station’s brig, although it was of somewhat nicer quality than what she had seen with the Alliance. The room she was put in had a nice cot fitted for zero-gee sleeping, a toilet with a curtain (although there was still a camera), and a nightstand of sorts upon which a datapad was placed. It was no doubt being watched in all forms and manners, but it had nearly everything she needed on it. News feeds, Extranet browser functions, and even a cache of files detailing the Lazarus Cell’s reanimation project and all of the surrounding events. Despite how it was probably restructured and washed of more secure information, it was still a welcome resource nonetheless. They even brought her food- a nice plate of sausage, mashed potatoes and bread. When she was done settling in, most of the guards and other personnel left, to be replaced with two different guards standing watch outside the door. They didn’t make conversation, which kept things quiet, and things eventually wound down to the point that Jennifer got tired. 

The cot was softer than she’d first thought, and as she approached sleep the paranoia in the back of her mind began to recede somewhat. Cerberus had given her everything she’d asked for and more, even seeming to very much want to gain her approval. It wasn’t the kind of thing that she’d been expecting. Not bad for being in the brig.

**Author's Note:**

> I very much appreciate that anyone who has made it to this point has read through my whole first chapter. Evidently, that means that I haven't repelled you with my gigantic walls of text! Anyhow, if you have any feedback on this piece, please give it to me. Whatever I learn through it will be incorporated into content to come, and so every comment is welcome. 
> 
> Again, thank you for taking the time to read this. I'll see you again in the next chapter- which is soon to come!


End file.
